


Playing At Castles

by therantygeek



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-16 08:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 51,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14160345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therantygeek/pseuds/therantygeek
Summary: I had a useless academic background and a bow, and got stranded on the wrong side of the Atlantic when the world died. One look at the unexpected Pleasantville in the middle of biter-town wouldn’t do any harm, would it? Except I found a LOT more than I was expecting. A sheriff, a sword-wielding badass, a little old den mother and a man so rednecked he made my hand itch for some pepper spray…if only I’d known how we’d end up.





	1. Chapter 1

One of the few advantages of being a PhD in Medieval Studies and a consummate nerd in the field is the skillset it gives you in the absence of civilisation. Of course it wasn’t academia that had made me board a plane and scuttle eagerly across the ocean towards the US of A but more of a post hat-toss adventure, playing at an Elizabethan lark with the venerably infamous Virginia Arts & Renaissance Faire. Call it a late rebellion. At the very least it was a break from the Middle Ages.

Then the world ended.

Fortunately, if there was such a thing as a good place to be during the kind of apocalypse where the dead suddenly decide to get back up and munch on the living, the VARF was it. Lots of pointy objects that didn’t run out of ammunition, people trained to use them well, and sufficiently realistic classical infrastructure that basic provisioning in the form of hunting, cooking and guarding the place could actually get done with minimal fuss.

In fact at first it seemed almost…fun. Some kind of horror themed diversion; building Roman-style fort fences to keep the dead out, slicing bits off if they got too close, hunting and collecting herbs for dinner, no cellphones and other digital nasties to disrupt the woods. A lark while waiting for the infallible “authorities” or “government” to show up and clean up the mess. Gosh, won’t this make one heck of a blog post/tale for the grandkids.

That lasted about two days, until the deaths started.

Things went downhill quite rapidly from there. Separated the men from the boys, as I believe the traditional (and sexist) saying has it. We got the hang of stabbing the brainpan pretty quickly. Hunting became more of a necessity, herbs more often used for medicines than flavouring. My studies got more of a practical workout than I’d ever dreamed they would. Display weapons got sharpened. Fortifications made solid.

The group splintered, of course. The full resident crew of the VARF was in the order of a hundred people, give or take, but differences and deaths both whittled down the numbers. Quite a lot departed, heading out to their homes around the state and beyond. A sizeable group decided to break for Washington on the grounds that if anywhere had survived intact, surely it was DC. Disputes arose over resources for the journeys – the last of the canned food, the vehicles and horses, the weapons.

In the end there were only four of us left – Bernie, from Sydney in Australia, Anika and her sister Petra from Dusseldorf, and me. The weirdoes from overseas who couldn’t  _get_  home on foot or by road.

Petra died first, not getting out of the way of a biter fast enough, and took Bernie with her when she came back with teeth already snapping. Anika and I left the remains of the camp then, sleeping tied to tree branches for safety at night and moving as swiftly as we could during the day, heading nowhere in particular. When a group of deeply-accented toughs crossed our path we started wary and ended running. They caught her. I was faster – or more likely just luckier – took one of them down, and got away.

I still hear her screaming sometimes when the nights are quiet. Often I pray she’s dead.

So then it was just me. Longbow, knife, a quiver full of ugly handmade arrows and a satchel full of medicine, herbs, food and whatever else useful I got my hands on. I stayed well clear of any signs of other people after that. The biters weren’t much for company but at least they were predictable monsters, and as long as you were careful and fast on your feet they were a manageable threat. I found a crappy little pistol in a house with all of three rounds in it but never fired it, reasoning that at the very least that gave me three shots to my own head if I got bitten, or something worse happened like it had to Anika.

I was out scavenging when I came across the wall. My much-worn map of the state said there was some kind of prototype eco-community thing in the area, which seemed like a worthwhile place to at least find some non-herbal medicinals and maybe some other useful bits and pieces. Instead there was an enormous wall made out of propped-up sheets of corrugated metal.

Stopping and listening for a good minute for any of the tell-tale rhythmic thumping that heralded biters banging their rotten heads against the obstacle in their path, I faced right and kept walking around. The cordoned-off area was huge – easily covering a moderately-sized suburban neighbourhood – and every now and then I almost thought I could hear talking or other normal-but-forgotten sounds.

After a bit I spotted a gate further up, on the road into the town. The street sign said  _Alexandria_ ; the name of my potential scavenging ground. Irrationally more annoyed than anything, I shimmied up a likely spot on the wall – not difficult, as it wasn’t that high and the top was undefended – and dropped down on the other side, sprinting for cover in an oddly well-tended hedgerow.

When you’ve been alone, blood and grime soaked and surrounded by walking, biting corpses for well over a year, suddenly finding yourself in the middle of Pleasantville can be a bit of a shock. I stayed concealed for a good half hour, watching astoundingly ordinary-looking people ambling about their business. An old couple sat on a porch. Some kids played in a garden. The sounds were a bit hushed, perhaps, but they definitely hadn’t been in my imagination after all.

I stayed hunched there in the hedge until well after dark, trying to match faces and count up the number of people in the town. There were enough of them to make the exercise tricky; well over a couple of dozen. Not good odds if they turned out to be unfriendly types.

When everyone seemed to be indoors for the night, I slunk along one of the streets trying to peer into the windows. One of the larger houses, with an odd combination of a baby’s pram by the door and a messy-looking bloodstain on the porch, showed signs of life so I found myself, PhD and all, squatting in their petunias and peeping through the downstairs window. It was a mixed bunch – three women, several men, a boy in his early teens. Their conversation was muted enough to make eavesdropping largely impossible, but I was trying hard enough that I completely missed any signs of movement behind me until the sound of a gun cocking shattered my concentration.

Shit.

‘Hands up.’ That drawl, though firm and rough, was definitely from further south. 'No sudden moves.’

I slowly raised my hands up to level with my ears, but stayed kneeling. I even managed not to do more than flinch when a thorough and somewhat rough pair of hands from another party patted the obvious bits down to relieve me of bow, quiver, gun, sword and my backup knife.

'Satchel, on the ground. Slow.’

I levered it gradually over my head with one hand and then put it down, still not turning. The handsy one pulled it away and I heard distinct rummaging.

'Nothing.’ Now  _that_  accent was  _very_  southern and a lot more coarse; similar enough in cadence to the gang who had taken Anika that my heart spend up and throat went dry. I realised my raised hands were trembling.

'Turn around.’ That was the first voice again, which now sounded almost infinitely more friendly than the second. I shifted to two knees and very gradually shuffled about face, looking up and unable to censor the audible gulp that escaped. I’m hardly an expert on guns but the term “bloody enormous revolver barrel” doesn’t require that much in the way of further explanation.

The man’s face above the barrel looked pretty civilised at first glance; clean shaven, collared shirt, firm jaw. The steel in the eyes said something quite different though.

'You’re not from here.’ It wasn’t a question.

'I was just looking for supplies,’ I said – not  _technically_  a lie, after all. 'I don’t want any trouble.’

A brief flash of surprised registered at my accent – Oxford BBC English isn’t exactly common in Virginia – but was gone as fast as it had appeared. The gun never wavered.

'How’d you get in?’

'Over the wall.’ I risked a sideways glance at the other man, feeling a kind of grim amusement to see he had put the satchel down and was examining my longbow closely. His longer hair obscured his face though, so I couldn’t guess what he thought of it. Then a slight but pointed motion from Revolver Guy made me hurriedly return my attention to him.

'Over the wall,’ he repeated with a kind of resigned blankness.

'It isn’t hard to climb,’ I felt obliged to say. This prompted a snort that seemed to be of amusement from Handsy and I flicked my gaze back, but got only a glimpse of narrow, somewhat grubby features before the urge to keep an eye on that bloody hand cannon overrode curiosity.

'You’re not wrong.’ Revolver Guy seemed to reach a decision and lowered the gun, clicking the safety back on but not replacing it in the holster at his hip. I gingerly lowered my arms but he was looking at his companion.

'Food. Rope. Looks like some leaves and shit.’ A one-shouldered shrug. 'Good weapons though.’

'Unusual.’

'Uh-huh.’

Another long stare in my direction.

'I was working a renaissance fair before,’ I volunteered. 'We all had stuff like this. Only now it needs to do actual damage, not just be for show.’

The hand holding the revolver visibly twitched.

'How many of you?’

'They’re all gone. There’s just me.’

Another pause.

'All right then.’ He glanced down at Handsy. 'We’ll keep her locked up tonight. Figure the rest out tomorrow.’

'I’ll leave now – you can keep my stuff – please, just let me have a knife back for the biters –’ I protested as they took an arm each, got me up and practically frogmarched me to the house. The door was opened by one of the older women, a weathered face with bright bird eyes and a cap of short-cropped silver hair.

'Who’s she?’

'Found her outside. Climbed over the damned walls,’ Revolver Guy said.

'Huh. Like that’d be hard.’ She stepped out of the way, seeming to realise what they were about. 'Downstairs bathroom’s clear. Nothing sharp. Or very breakable. We can rig it to lock from the outside.’

'It’ll do.’ Revolver Guy escorted me down the short hallway, giving me the barest glimpse of the curious faces in the main room as we passed it, and shoved me into the small cloakroom just past without ceremony. 'Here. Nobody’ll hurt you, just don’t try anything.’

The door snapped shut before I could protest further, and I heard some dragging noises and a thump as someone presumably braced something to keep it closed. After scouring the room for anything that might serve even marginally as a weapon and finding nothing, I sat down on the toilet and cursed. There didn’t seem to be much else to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Needless to say I couldn’t really sleep in the tiny room, even if I’d been inclined to, so I was pretty pissed off and had pins and needles in several unfortunate places by the time more scraping and thuds the following morning heralded my release. I staggered upright as the door opened to admit Handsy and a dark-skinned woman, close to my own age, with an ample head of dreadlocks and what looked remarkably like a katana slung across her shoulders.

‘Come on,’ the woman said without preamble.

I followed them out, noting with interest that she seemed pretty at ease with Handsy watching me while silently walking behind. There were more curious glances as we passed the main room the other way, and for a moment I could have sworn I heard what sounded like the gurgle of a baby, but then we were outside. I risked a glance back at Handsy just in time to see him swing down a rather impressive compound crossbow from his back and slide a bolt into the barrel.

Huh.

They took me down the street a little way – and there were plenty of stares from others going past, as shockingly clean, kempt and well-dressed as they’d been the previous day. I flicked my eyes over to the relatively nearby fence and tried to judge the distance…I could probably have a decent shot if I broke for it at a sprint, but Handsy seemed like he knew how to handle that crossbow and besides, being unarmed in the middle of biter-filled Virginia wasn’t going to do much for my life expectancy.

So it was that I found myself plopped into an armchair in front of a weathered-looking woman in late middle age while Revolver Guy hovered behind the couch she was sitting on. Handsy and Katana withdrew out of sight but, I had a strong feeling, not from earshot.

'My name is Deanna Monroe,’ the woman said in surprisingly cordial tones.

'Cass Wycombe.’ It actually took a moment for me to respond, since I hadn’t been in a situation where names were being used for so long.

'You’re English.’

'Just outside London.’

'What brought you to the US?’

'Year out after finishing my doctorate.’

'Oh? What did you study?’

'Medieval History.’

'Medieval, huh? That explains this at least.’ She picked up my bow, and I only then noticed that my possessions were sitting next to her. 'Although this – indicating the sword – looks more like a Roman Gladius to me.’

'It’s salvaged.’ I didn’t really feel like explaining how Rob, the VARF’s blacksmith, had gone through the remains of the props after the first biter attack and converted the broken longswords into the shorter blades more suited to stabbing for the head.

'And you collect…flowers?’ Deanna pulled out a loose scraggle of tansy heads from the satchel.

'Only the useful ones. That’s a pretty good mosquito repellent.’

She looked up and back at Revolver Guy with a barely perceptible nod.

'How many walkers have you killed?’ he asked me bluntly.

'Uh.’ I had to think for a moment. 'I don’t know. Lots? I don’t keep count.’

'How many people have you killed?’

'Um. One.’ I swallowed hard, because for all I’d known the redneck bastard had been planning to do to me, the recollection of him writhing on the ground with blood spurting from the bone-deep gash I’d hacked into his neck wasn’t one I enjoyed.

'Why?’

'His…gang…got my friend. Nearly got me.’ I had to look away.

'How long have you been by yourself?’ Deanna asked, in a much gentler tone.

'I'm…I’m not sure. A while.’

She glanced back at Revolver Guy again, and this time he was the one who nodded, and I fancied his shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.

'I thought so.’ Deanna looked back at me almost apologetically. 'Rick is our town constable. I’m sorry if anyone scared you.’

'Just my luck to look in that bloody window on the way in.’ I regarded Rick – a better name than Revolver Guy, at any rate – carefully. 'Crossbow and Katana your deputies, or something?’

'Something like that.’ But the merest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. That miniscule show of humanity was vastly more reassuring than I expected it to be.

'We’ve all cause to be very grateful to Rick and his friends here,’ Deanna said. 'Do you mind?’ This was as she reached up to a video camera mounted on a tripod just behind her shoulder. I shrugged and she flipped it on. 'I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s all right.’

'Interviewing me for parole?’ I couldn’t stop looking longingly at my bow. 'If I could just have my stuff – or at least my knife – I’ll get out of your hair right now –’

'Can’t let you do that,’ Rick said. 'You could bring others back here, give away our location-’

'And besides, I think we could have a place for you here,’ Deanna added before I could protest. 'Could you…teach someone to make a bow like this one?’

I blinked.

'I guess…with the right wood…’

'And the herbs?’

'Uh…some poultices and stuff, maybe. I’m not  _that_  kind of doctor though.’

'What else do you know?’ she pressed. 'Smithing? Agriculture?’

'A bit.’

'Textiles?’

'You mean making looms, weaving, that sort of thing? You seem a little short on sheep.’

'What about castles? Fortifications?’

'I know enough about castles to make some suggestions, I suppose.’

'And how would you go about improving the walls here?’ Rick asked. I stared at him.

'Well other than making them taller and deeper – that’s assuming they are dug in at all as well as braced – I’d put a deterrent along the top. Barbed wire, or  _something_. I’d put guard towers up around the perimeter, maybe a secondary curtain wall between them, make sure the vantage points are manned so nobody can sneak up on the place. Say, in the middle of the night.’

He came around the couch and sat down on the other side of Deanna, leaning forward with his hands laced.

'Lights?’

'No. The place ought to be blacked out at night. Lights are a dead giveaway there’s a settlement if you’re some marauding band of assholes.’

'Right.’ He sat back, seemingly pleased with the response, and then Deanna asked about something else.

This went on for at least an hour, with Deanna’s obviously inadequate knowledge of European Middle Ages trivia balanced by Rick’s more practical enquiries. I tried not to get impatient but sitting down in this nice room with floral cushions just felt all kinds of wrong, like a dozen biters were going to burst through the patio door at any moment with my weapons just out of arm’s reach.

After a short eternity Deanna reached up and flicked off the camera.

'Thank you. I – we- would  _really_  like for you to stay here. To help us, this community, to survive. To build a better tomorrow for our children.’

'By teaching you how to be medieval serfs?’

'To a point.’ She offered a small smile. 'After all, if we can’t learn from history…’

'So you’re the one in charge here, then?’

'To…a point.’ Another smile, but less warm this time. Interesting. 'I used to be a congresswoman. Ohio. ’

'And that makes you qualified  _how_?’ Oops, I hadn’t meant that to come out quite as rude-sounding as it did. 'I mean-’ attempting a more placating, or at least vaguely civilised, tone ’-getting elected, before, doesn’t mean you know how to run what amounts to a survivalist outpost surrounded by hostile forces-’

'Which is exactly why I need people like you-’

'So you what, sit here and interview me with a  _video camera_?’ I snapped, losing patience with her. 'What then, you review against your job criteria and ask for references? Do you have even the  _slightest_  idea what the hell is going on with the world outside your crappy walls? Because presumably you haven’t noticed,  _Madam Congresswoman_ , but while you’ve been pruning your god-damned roses the rest of us have been trying not to get  _eaten alive by walking corpses_!’

It was only when Rick rose that I realised I’d stood up and was pacing back and forth in short, flurried movements while ranting like a madwoman. But the ludicrousness of the entire thing…the  _arrogance_  of it…

'You’d better either kill me or let me go,’ I said to Rick, seeing his hand settled on the grip of his revolver. 'Because I’d rather get a bullet from that gun than sit around eating pies with a bunch of pansy-ass suburbanites who’ll be biter Happy Meals the second one of their walls rusts through.’

He looked at me for a long moment and then glanced down at Deanna, who at least seemed to have the sense to keep her trap shut.

'You wanted my opinion?’ He looked back at me and motioned. 'Come with me. Bring your gear.’

The hell with it. I snatched up the bundle on the way to the door, not bothering to look back at Deanna, and followed him out down the street to what turned out to be a large gate of chain link fence reinforced with canvas. At least there were some platforms overlooking that weak point. There were even people on them, carrying rifles, but they vacated as Rick climbed up. I followed him, wondering what the heck he was about.

'That’s the road,’ he said, gesturing. It had obviously been cleared of wrecked cars and other debris, but occasional biter remains were littered about. 'You decide you want to leave? We take you out, drop you off far from here, so you don’t know where you are, where we are.’

'By that do you mean you drive me out of earshot of Deanna and her bleeding hearts brigade and shoot me?’

That actually got a rough grimace of amusement.

'You’ve been out there a while. A long while. Maybe long as we were.’

'You, Katana and Crossbow?’

'And some others.’ He leaned absently on the walkway rail. 'I agree with you. This place is weak. It was worse, if you can believe it, before we got here.’

I tapped the rail.

'Thought this looked new. Your idea?’

'Yup.’

'Got any other big plans?’

'Some. Reckon we could use your input, though. Like the gate. What do you think of it?’

'Fine against biters, unless there was a herd of them.’ I considered a moment. 'I’d have a perimeter further out. A palisade definitely, maybe a ditch with some stakes in to slow them down so the first thing anything hits isn’t also the last line of defence. You’d want to dig-’ with a squint, as I was rubbish at judging distances by eye ’-at least a couple hundred yards out, so anyone up here could still see anything  _in_ the ditch, and anything smarter than a biter can’t use it as cover to approach. Hell, I’d do that all the way around. There’s plenty of wood.’

He looked about to respond but then stopped and indicated down the road, where a single lurching figure had just ambled out of the forest.

'Think you can hit that?’

'Probably, but it’d be a bit of a wasted arrow. Stupid thing’s just standing there.’

'Indulge me.’

I sighed, readied my bow – noting with relief that some thoughtful soul with half a brain at least had the good courtesy not to leave it strung – and set an arrow, sighting down the length. At least the sun wasn’t in my eyes. I gave it a moment and then let fly, rather gratified when the biter went down from the shot, which had hit it at least in the head if not right between the eyes.

'Nice shot,’ Rick said, sounding somewhere close to genuinely impressed.

'You owe me an arrow.’

'Noted.’ He watched as I reslung the bow over my shoulders for travel. 'Will you give it time? We could use you.’

'Well, seeing as my choices seem to be to stick around or get taken out back Old Yeller style,’ I pointed out.

'Nothing personal.’

'I know. You can’t be too careful.’ I snorted ruefully. 'To think, if I’d peeked in any other house in the bloody neighbourhood I’d probably have been gone same night and nobody the wiser.’

'Yeah, we’re working on that too.’

A thought suddenly occurred to me.

'Why do  _you_  stay? You’re obviously not native to this setup.’

He seemed to consider very carefully before answering.

'My son and daughter. They deserve a home. This place…I think it could be one. With work.’

Huh. I had to give him another good look after that reveal. Less of a murderous out-to-live survivalist then; I could believe a father would go to lengths at least equal to the average psychopath if it meant keeping his kids from turning into corpse food.

It abruptly occurred to me that there could be worse people to be around.

'I can keep my gear?’

'Gun goes in the armoury. Everything else, sure.’ He jerked his head back to the town. 'Let’s go find you some place to put down.’

Back on street level, Deanna was waiting with folded arms and a pleased expression.

'I think number fifteen would be a good place.’

I resisted the urge to slap her – barely – but couldn’t stop turning back after walking a few steps past after Rick.

'So you know,  _Madam Congresswoman_ , this isn’t because of any of your speeches and promises. I don’t buy any of that stuff.’ I indicated Rick. 'But I buy him.’

Then I left her standing there.


	3. Chapter 3

I ended up in a small house that was more or less opposite the one where Rick and his group were bedded down. It was bigger than my flat in London had been, and frankly the hot water was better too. I had a long, hot shower – I’d almost forgotten how my skin looked  _not_  covered in months upon months of dirt and grime – poked around all the cupboards as one does in a strange house, then entirely failed to get to sleep in the bed, on the floor by the bed, on the sofa, on the floor by the sofa, by the door…

In the end I went into the garage, shifted some of the empty shelves around and made a bed from a couple of blankets in between them. Two clear exits, and  _only_  two clear exits. It was a relatively easy matter to wedge the main door up and leave the one into the house ajar. I shifted all the crap – boxes of old junk, photographs and trophies and for some unholy reason some skiing equipment – into one of the upstairs bedrooms to barricade the one window that didn’t quite latch properly.

Ignoring the puzzled stares of the long-term residents passing on the street, I repurposed some heavy drapes hung over the shelves for a bit of draught protection, then took the pretty little front garden to pieces to get a fire going – nicely banked of course – with the rest of the wood shelved nearby to dry out.

I was roasting up some chicken mushroom from my bag for a late breakfast when a hesitant knock on the door post made me look up sharply and reach for my bow. It turned out to be the older woman from the night before, for some reason carrying a casserole dish.

‘Hi.’

'Uh. Hi.’ I stood up and dusted my hands down on my jeans – a bit of a fruitless exercise but some old habits for some reason died hard.

'I thought you might like something to eat,’ she said with a bright smile, extending the dish. 'It isn’t very exciting I’m afraid, but it’s fresh from the oven.’

'I – um –’ then I caught the scent of casserole and my stomach overrode my brain ’-thank you, that’s very kind.’

'You’re welcome. I’m Carol,’ she added. 'I live just over the way, with Rick and the others.’

'I remember.’ I put the dish down carefully on a shelf. 'Welcome wagons and bathroom incarcerations, huh? That’s a pretty broad range of talents…’

'Oh, I’m sorry about that.’ She sounded more embarrassed than anything else. 'You just…we’re used to being a bit paranoid, I guess. You know.’

'I get it. It’s fine.’ I ran a hand through my hair, feeling oddly self-conscious about being so dishevelled and tattered next to her pristine cashmere sweater.

'You know, we should get you down to the Pantry,’ she said brightly. 'The storage building? Get you some fresh clothes, a toothbrush, stuff like that? And Jessie, in that house down there, she can fix your hair if you want.’ Another half-apologetic sort of smile. 'I know it seems silly. Haircuts and toothbrushes, after being out there. But it might make you feel, you know, a little more at home.’

'Well I, uh…’ but the temptation of clothes held together by more than muck was too much '…that sounds great.’

'I’ll show you the way.’

I quickly banked the fire and then followed her out, leaving bow and sword concealed in the bedding but keeping my knife with me. She seemed harmless – almost absurdly so – but the idea of being totally unarmed still didn’t sit right, even with the walls around the neighbourhood.

'So is it true you were at a Renaissance fair before?’

'Yeah. I was taking a year out after getting my doctorate.’

'Oh, you’re a  _doctor_?’

'Of Medieval Studies, yeah. Not the most practical skillset. Usually.’

'Well, Rick and Deanna seem to think otherwise.’

_Rick and Deanna_ , I thought.  _Not “Deanna and Rick.”_

'How did you end up in Rick’s group?’

'Oh, I don’t know.’ She almost blushed, gesturing helplessly. 'I just sort of fell in with them. I never expected them to accept me…it was like being a den mother or something.’

'That’s-’ I struggled for the right word ’-sweet.’ Presumably she was a nanny of sorts to Rick’s kids, taking care of the cooking and minor boo-boos while he was out blowing things up to keep everyone safe. Made sense, in an embarrassing sort of way.

At the Pantry, which housed all the preserved food and other niceties the town had hoarded, Carol introduced me to a plump, bespectacled woman named Olivia who cheerfully went into bustling mode and had to be gently talked out of giving me a set of incredibly impractical clothes like summer dresses and sandals. I ended up with mostly men’s things – although the nearly-new bra was definitely welcome, and I would take the underwire out later – and some other sundries, while taking every opportunity to peek through into the armoury in the back room. It seemed like mostly guns and the like – predictable enough – but I also spotted a couple of sets of riot gear and a Kevlar vest.

'Lot of canned food,’ I observed to Carol as we walked back. 'But there’s plenty of space to grow here. Can’t help noticing the flowers in the front gardens where vegetable patches could go.’

'Hmm, I suppose that’s true…I don’t really know much about gardening though,’ she said thoughtfully, then brightened again, 'Oh, you should meet Maggie – she grew up on a farm – I think she’s been talking to Deanna about getting some crops planted. They’ve been talking about expanding the wall, you know.’

’ _Expanding_  it? It’s too damned large to keep patrolled as it is! And there’s  _more_  than enough space!’ I indicated the broad parkland and general lawn area. 'If someone wants to play castle-builder they should work on tightening up what’s already here, not making it  _bigger…_ ’

'Oh, then you should talk to Abraham too – he’s been working with the construction teams. He used to be in the army, you know, so he knows about making safe camps and things like that.’

'Let me guess,’ I said, resisting the urge to grin, 'This Maggie, and Abraham, they’re part of your group too?’

'Why yes.’ She seemed surprised. 'How did you guess that?’

'Just a hunch.’ I hefted the bag Olivia had given me. 'Thanks again for this. And the casserole. I’m going to go change.’

'It’s no problem, really. Please just knock if you need anything.’ She ambled off back towards her house, which was when I spotted the crossbow on the porch and its owner sitting on the steps, rather messily engaged in skinning something. I beat a hasty retreat to the garage, trying to convince myself that if someone as innocent as Carol wasn’t bothered by him then he had to be all right, but without much success.

He was fortunately gone by the time I finished devouring the casserole and cleaning the dish, though, so I risked going across to knock and return it. Carol seemed excessively pleased I’d thought to wash it first – good to know some acts of basic civility were still beyond some people – and insisted I come in for a cup of tea, after apologising profusely that she didn’t currently have any coffee to offer. I accepted, on the basis that an English person turning down tea was an affront to my ancestors, and with the more practical view that making allies out of Rick’s group seemed to be a good idea on the survivability front.

This achieved the welcome side effect of being introduced to Judith, Rick’s infant daughter, who seemed quite amiable to being picked up and cooed over. It was hard to believe any group with a baby less than a year old had somehow managed to survive out there, but Judith seemed undaunted by the unlikeliness of her existence and erupted into peals of delighted giggles when tickled under her chubby little arms.

'You like kids?’ Carol asked, chuckling at the antics.

'I had a whole slew of nephews and nieces and baby cousins back home,’ I said, trying but not succeeding in letting my smile fade at the memory. 'Never thought I’d see one this young again.’

'Are we interrupting you ladies?’

I whirled in alarm, on reflex angling my torso so Judith wasn’t exposed. The sight of Rick in the doorway actually grinning in open amusement was a tad unsettling, but at least not an actual threat. I hurriedly handed the baby across as he came in, followed by the shaggy-haired boy I’d spotted through the window.

'Oh, we were just having some girl time,’ Carol said with a laugh as Judith started pulling at Rick’s collar. 'Where have you been?’ she added to the boy.

'Just for a walk,’ he said, regarding me with obvious suspicion. He was wearing an old-fashioned brown sheriff’s hat and I abruptly realised that Rick must have been a policeman before everything went to hell.

'Carl, right?’ I tried.

'Yeah.’

'I’m Cass. Your little sister is  _super_  cute.’

'Yeah, she is.’ That got a sort of half smile, albeit a lopsided one. I was glad Carol had the foresight to mention earlier that Judith and Carl’s mother was long dead, though. Nothing like an inappropriate reminder of deceased family to ruin a convivial mood.

'I’d, uh, I’d better get going,’ I said, hearing more voices coming towards the door. 'Thanks again, Carol, and – uh – bye, Judith-’ risking a quick ruffle of her surprisingly ample curly hair.

'Stay,’ Rick said suddenly. 'Eat with us.’

'Yes,’ Carol agreed. 'Meet the others. You can talk to Maggie, and Abraham-’

'No – no, I don’t want to intrude.’ I realised I was backing away and tried to slow, if not stop. 'Thank you, though – uh – maybe another time. Thanks. Bye.’

I’d been aiming for more of a swift walk to the front door than a panicked run at the sudden influx of people in a limited space, but the half-assed attempt at a nonchalant exit was somewhat ruined when I on instinct flattened myself against the wall to keep very clear of Crossbow as he came in – he gave me the briefest of disinterested looks and then moved on, thankfully – and then I had to give a somewhat awkward but extremely British nod of hi-I’m-just-leaving-sorry to Katana, who was just behind him. She gave me a deeply curious stare for a moment but then also moved on, leaving me clear to flee.

I closed the main door down that night but forced myself to open it again the following morning so I could work through the remains of the other rose bushes I’d torn down to see if any of the longer, straighter twigs could be made into serviceable arrows. I was halfway through stripping the more promising ones down into shafts when I realised I was being watched, and glanced up to see Carl lurking at the end of the driveway.

'What are you doing?’ he asked.

'Making arrows.’

'You make your own?’ He ventured a little closer, clearly curious but still wary.

'Not hard when you know how.’ I considered. 'Want to see?’

'Sure.’ He gave a half shrug of the sort only teenage boys can manage and then trotted across to sit down cross-legged beside me. 'Did you make your own bow, too?’

'Yeah, the first one I had broke when I stuck it in a biter’s eye socket.’

'Huh. That why you sharpen the ends of the arms?’

'Limbs,’ I corrected automatically, earning a puzzled look. 'The long bits are called the limbs of the bow. The ends – which yeah, I keep sharpened – are the nocks.’

'Because you nock the arrow on the string, right?’

'That’s right.’

'What’s the string made of?’

'This is some polyester fishing line. At the fair we replaced the natural strings with these when it got pretty clear we needed bows that worked well for hunting rather than just historical accuracy.’

'Where do you get the feathers for the arrows?’

'Usually I don’t. But lots of other stuff works for fletching.’ I pulled my satchel across and showed him the cardboard segments I kept in a plastic bag. 'Anything light that adds a bit of weight to guide the arrow.’

'Huh.’ He took the finished arrow I offered from my quiver and examined it. 'That’s pretty cool.’

I regarded him for a moment. What the hell.

'I can show you, if you want.’ I wasn’t sure what Rick would think of his son learning about bows and arrows, but it wouldn’t do the kid any harm.

'Yeah, that’d be great.’ Without further prompting, Carl took a knife out of his pocket and picked up one of the longer sticks, starting to whittle it down to a straight shaft with surprising skill. 'My dad taught me to shoot. Guns, I mean. I just…I don’t know, feels like I ought to know this kind of stuff too.’

'That’s pretty smart. How old are you, anyway?’

'Uh.’ He actually had to pause and think for a moment. 'Fifteen.’

'Anyone else your age around here?’

'Ron, Enid, a couple of others.’ Hmm, a certain note of forced dismissiveness there. One named girl, another boy, and him the obvious outsider. Unfortunate circumstances for being a teenager.

'They any good for anything?’ I tried.

'Enid can take care of herself. She was outside before. Ron and the others are useless,’ he added with a small sigh. 'He can’t even hold a gun properly, let alone shoot it. He still plays  _video games_.’ That last was with obvious scorn.

'Wow.’ I wondered again how the hell this place had survived. 'Precious electricity, and  _that’s_  what this place uses it for? I hope he doesn’t expect free respawns and kill streak bonuses in the real world.’

That got a chuckle.

'How come you’re here, anyway? You’re English, right?’

'Yeah. I was on a holiday, actually. Taking a year out after getting my PhD. I went straight from school to university, university to my doctorate, figured it was time to see a bit of the world. Talk about timing, huh?’

'That sucks.’

'Yup.’

We whittled in oddly companionable silence for a bit until Katana wandered into the driveway. Carl glanced up with a friendly  _hey_  of greeting. She cocked her head.

'Arts and crafts hour?’

'Making arrows.’

'Huh.’ She hunkered down to get a look at the shaft he was working on, then met my eye and abruptly stuck out a gloved hand. 'I’m Michonne.’

I shook.

'Cass.’

'Rick mentioned you were talking about improving the walls. Fortifying.’

'If by fortifying you mean putting some stuff in that’d stop my granny being able to hop over them, then yeah.’

'Construction crew just got back from a scrap run. Abraham wants to meet you.’

'Sure.’

The three of us ended up back in the kitchen of the big house opposite, where Carol seemed in her element bustling about with the kettle and offering snacks in between checking on Judith, who was entertaining herself on the mat with a somewhat moth-eaten teddybear.

Sergeant Abraham Ford, as he introduced himself, turned out to be an enormous ginger-haired bear of a man with a rough cut beard and a grip like an anvil. He seemed an oddly jovial sort, and after getting rather excited to know that yes, I could if necessary instruct him on how to build a functioning trebuchet, calmed down to the more detailed business of discussing Alexandria’s walls.

'Problem is, this pussy-ass town has been the luckiest bunch of dumb fuckheads in the history of the world to date, far as I can tell,’ he remarked when I marvelled once more at the general inadequacy of the walls against anything other than biters. 'So they’re still fussing about their daisies and doilies and what have you when the rest of us have been out there neck-plus deep in the sort of shit they can’t even conceive of.  _So_  we have before us the thankless task of educating them somewhat on said shit while also trying to stop them getting eaten. Fun times.’

I decided I liked Abraham.

'Well some kind of climb-over deterrent definitely should be first port, and then watch posts so every part of the wall is covered and they’re all in sight of each other to signal.’ I indicated the plan on the countertop in front of us. 'The bell tower is fine for a general overwatch but you need first-responders somewhere still workable when the rifle ammunition runs out.’

'All right. I reckon we build a buffer around the gate after that, then we can talk about a secondary palisade and digging us a bigass ditch. Preferably before the gas for the machinery runs out.’

'That’ll make a lot of noise,’ Michonne pointed out.

'Yeah,’ Abraham conceded, 'But so do a heap of folks with shovels, and that ain’t anywhere near as quick. We can have patrollers out keeping clear.’

'If we get the material for the palisades first we can have a secondary perimeter by pushing back the treeline,’ I suggested. 'That way you’re less likely to get caught when some biter lurches out from the undergrowth.’

'Cleaner line of sight, too. I like it.’

'So who actually makes the decision to  _do_  this stuff, though?’ I asked, looking pointedly at Michonne. 'Is it Rick, or Deanna, or…?’

To my surprise she broke into a grin.

'You had to ask.’

'Oh, good. Nothing like a nice, clear chain of command.’

'Yep, and what we got  _ain’t_  nothing like one,’ Abraham said cheerfully, and clouted me on the shoulder with enough enthusiasm that I nearly fell off the stool. 'We’ll make it happen, don’t sweat that.’

Planning with Abraham and Michonne and playing with Judith were pleasant enough that I loitered long enough to also be introduced to the cheery Rosita and improbably-mulleted Eugene, who seemed somewhat pleased to address me formally as Doctor Wycombe in his weird, flat way. I made myself scarce as the others began to trickle back in though, still not comfortable with the idea of a larger group in one place, and the sight of the guy with the crossbow on the porch was enough to make sure I closed the garage up for the night again.

The following day I went outside the walls with Abraham and a couple of the others on the construction crew to start putting up the wire they’d salvaged. It turned out there was a construction site for a mall or something not far away by road which gave a usefully ready source of building materials. I collected some more wood while I was out there, including a couple of bendy young sapling branches that could make serviceable bows with a bit of work.

By mid-afternoon we were all out of wire, but there was enough light left in the day that Abraham decided to make a run to the construction site for more. I declined to accompany them, for some reason not liking the idea of being cooped-up inside a car or truck cabin, but remained outside to see if I could catch some dinner.

It was oddly liberating being back in the woods beyond the walls, although I’d only been in there a couple of days all told. Even with the biters that occasionally came into view – in three instances necessitating use of weapons to the brainpan – it felt weirdly more at home than inside Alexandria. On a whim I climbed up a tree to perch out of biter reach and get a look at the town from a distance. It still looked bizarre beyond all credibility, this little patch of intact suburbia in the middle of the apocalypse.

When I got back Glenn showed up at the garage door.

'We’re doing a run tomorrow, could use someone who knows what they’re doing.’

'What’s the run for?’

'There’s a high school a few miles from here. Want to check it out, see if there’s anything we could use.’

'Makes sense. Sure.’

The scavenging party consisted of Tara, another of Rick’s group, a weedy-looking guy called Nicholas, Deanna’s younger son Aiden, a third Alexandrian called Heath, and – to my barely-concealed dismay – the redneck crossbow-wielder, whom Glenn introduced as Daryl. Fortunately he didn’t seem inclined to chat much, and just acknowledged me with a barely-there nod and a grunt.

It was an uncomfortable car ride, especially when Nicholas kept trying to make conversation like we were on some kind of teenage road trip. He tried to hit on Tara, fairly obviously, and when she didn’t bite he tried to hit on me instead, which if nothing else I supposed was proof hope springs eternal although it was easier to just blank him than try and shut him down outright.

After over an hour of very one-sided chatter from Nicholas, Glenn wearily told him to shut up, provoking a somewhat bitchy tirade of complaining until Daryl turned around in his seat and did the same in a much more pissed tone, at which point Nicholas fell silent. I wasn’t sure what to make of that but ten minutes later we pulled up a little way from the school. It was a large complex with an attached car park and gym, although fortunately there seemed to be only a handful of biters staggering around outside.

With the notable exception of Heath, it became quickly apparent that the Alexandrians had little to recommend them as anything other than potential bait out in the open. They were clumsy shots, noisy movers and had little sense of situational awareness, let alone tactics. The almost military coordination of Glenn, Tara and Daryl made the disarray of the others seem even worse.

I tried to just stay out of the way of the Alexandrians and the racket they were making, and even managed to retrieve all the arrows I fired to take down biters on the way to the front door. Inside was torchlight work even though it wasn’t even noon outside, but a little duct tape on the shoulder would keep your hands free – another trick the idiots from Alexandria didn’t seem to think of – and the place seemed mercifully empty. After the briefest discussion in front of the floor plan in the lobby we split up, and I ended up paired with Tara to sweep the top floor.

'Nothing but books and dust,’ she said in disgust, tossing a timetable folder aside, and then noticed I was sorting through craft supplies. 'What are you looking for?’

'Good thickness of cardboard.’ I pulled out an arrow and showed her.

'You can  _use_  that?’ She gestured down the corridor. 'I swear we passed the art department down there.’

'Awesome.’

We ended up with enough light balsa wood and cardboard to keep the whole of Alexandria in fletching for months, and after a bit of rummaging I also found some containers of PVA glue that were still sealed, which went into the knapsack of loot. That seemed to be it for that floor so we went back down and found the school’s surprisingly well-appointed library, which Nicholas and Aiden had of course already swept and deemed devoid of anything useful.

To my lasting amusement Tara plucked a handful of select paperbacks from the shelves with a grin – “I don’t care what anyone says, new reading material  _is_  a must-have” – so I went into the reference section and discovered, to my delight, that some enterprising staff member had a bit of a fetish for Europe in the Middle Ages. Lots of the books had diagrams in them – accurate, if a little simplified.

'Holy shit, there’s a foot-treadle floor loom in here.’

'Well fuck me, now we can all have pretty dresses.’

I looked up sharply, gut clenching on reflex again, but Daryl’s face poking around the doorway seemed dryly amused.

'You done with Reading Hour, or what?’

'We’re good.’ Tara seemed to find the gripe amusing but I settled for hurriedly stuffing the rest of the shelf I’d found into my bag and heading out, giving Daryl a wide berth as I did so. Coupled with the selection of canned bulk catering supplies and some complete first aid kits from the nurse’s office, the haul was actually pretty good.

Even better, I had books to read to distract me from being in the car on the way back, Nicholas didn’t so much as sneeze, and when we got back Tobin took one look at the diagram of the loom and said he could easily build one. Not a bad day, all things considered.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks followed a similar pattern of working on the walls, crafting and arguing with select people inside them and doing scavenging runs outside. I still kept the habit of going out by myself whenever I could to hunt and just stay accustomed to being around the undead, though. It wasn’t worth the risk of going soft, even if I was gradually getting more comfortable with the idea of Alexandria as something other than a fly-by-night safe zone that would evaporate any day now.

I got chatting with the elderly Bob Miller who turned out to be an avid gardener and was more than pleased with the idea of turning his garden into a vegetable patch. He even talked several of his neighbours into following suit, which wrecked the lawn quotient but would in theory give the town a decent crop of carrots, potatoes and the like by the time winter rolled around. His wife Natalie brought some homemade lemonade down to the garage and exclaimed in delight how much he was enjoying himself.

‘It’s put a new spring back in his step, being useful for something!’ she enthused.

At any rate the lemonade was far too sweet for me but I saved it for Carl as thanks for helping with the recent bout of arrow-making. In fact I was sitting with him and Michonne on their porch talking them through the process of turning one of the sapling branches into a serviceable weapon when the arrival of Daryl – with a brace of what looked like squirrels slung over his shoulder – had me hurriedly packing up and retreating.

The following day, as I was prepping my gear for a run outside, Michonne wandered over and regarded me thoughtfully for a moment or two.

'You got a problem with Daryl.’ It wasn’t a question.

'No problem,’ I said, without looking up. 'I stay out of his way, he stays out of mine, no problem.’

'Right.’ She leaned against the wall. 'You want to tell me why you’re so skittish around him? Can’t really afford it, especially outside. False starts. Could get somebody killed.’

That was, I had to admit, an awfully good point, and made me feel even more like a complete ass.

'It's…it’s nothing, really. It’s stupid. I just need to – to get over it, that’s all.’

Michonne cocked her head and waited for me to crack. I did, of course – her stare was unnerving at the best of times.

'Let’s just say he reminds me of…some people…I’d rather not be reminded of. Stupid, I know. It’s the accent, and the general, you know-’ I motioned helplessly ’-grubbiness, and whatever.’

'They hurt you?’ That came out feather-soft.

'Not me.’ I swallowed hard and had to look away.

'I’m sorry.’ She straightened. 'And I get it. I do. But we can’t afford that kind of shit. I need you to hear me when I tell you Daryl’s a good guy. And he’s family – to me, to Rick, Carol, all of us. You understand?’

The implication – that something hit the fan and it boiled down to myself or Daryl, the choice would be both immediate and a no-brainer – was pretty clear. I nodded.

'I got it.’

The run went without incident, to the point that Tara and I ended up exchanging Harry Potter quotes for most of the ride back despite Glenn’s obviously half-hearted protests. So when they headed inside with cheerful waves past where Daryl was sitting on the porch disembowelling something – which seemed to be his chief hobby when not conducting recon runs outside the walls – I decided to sack up, and approached him.

'Daryl?’

'Yeah?’ He squinted up at me through his perpetually greasy hair without stopping what he was doing.

'I – uh – look, I just wanted to apologise for being…edgy around you. I know this is really stupid and – uh – well, probably kind of racist, but your accent, it just really reminds me of this gang that I…’ I trailed off and hurriedly tried to regroup '…they took my friend, and I couldn't…’ nope, the regroup wasn’t happening. I looked up at the sky and chewed my bottom lip, trying  _not_  to remember the screams that were the last I’d heard of Anika.

'All right.’ Daryl seemed largely unperturbed by the new information, and when I looked back at him he constructed a one-shouldered sort of shrug. 'Sorry about your friend. I’ve known some sons of bitches did that shit. Killed 'em too.’

That somewhat casual statement had no right to be as reassuring as it was.

'Okay. Well I – uh – I just wanted you to know. So we’re – uh – we’re good?’

He gave me a look of outright disdain.

'What, you want a fucking hug or something?’

Well, that had worked – now I just wanted to punch him.

'Fine. Whatever.’ I walked away, unable to shake the feeling he was smirking at my back but refusing to glance over my shoulder to confirm it.

Fortunately I didn’t have much chance to stew over the conversation – if indeed it could be called that – because with the tops of the existing wall now liberally adorned with barbed wire and some nasty home-made caltrops Abraham conjured up, the idea of the palisade and defensive ditch became a very real topic of conversation, to the point that Deanna asked Rick to make plans for the safety of the digging and logging crews so they could do their jobs without having to check for walkers over their shoulders every five seconds.

With what I was learning was typical Rick-like dispatch, he did just that, but while the majority of the able-bodied would be focusing efforts on the initial push back of the treeline around the gate it was Carol, of all the unlikely people, who pointed out that essentially put us back on square one in terms of keeping the rest of the walls monitored and clear of walkers. Sacha of course immediately offered to keep watch on the tower with her ever-present rifle.

'Long as we keep someone up there on a shift-’

'I’d rather not have rifle shots going off,’ Rick said to her, shaking his head. 'Draw more in from further away, especially if we’re clearing treeline the sound’ll travel further.’ He rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. 'We need a perimeter guard. Small, mobile, quiet…Daryl, you and Cass should do it. Just keep a route around the edge of the walls, take out any walkers you see, keep an eye out for large groups.’

'That’ll work,’ I said, perhaps a little too brightly. 'We can go opposite directions, check in once a day and-’

'No, stick together so you can watch each other’s backs. Sacha, you take tower shift during the day. Use the radios in case you spot anything from higher up…’

Which of course was how I ended up, one bright Virginia morning three days later, readying my gear for a jaunt into the woods with Daryl bloody Dixon. My disgruntlement must have shown on my face because he gave me an unreadable look when we met at the gate and then dryly asked what had my panties in a bunch, which irrationally made me want to smack him even more because of all the Americanisms butchered into the English language on this side of the Atlantic, that had to be one of my  _least_  favourites.

'Nothing, I’m  _peachy_. Can we get going?’

'Sure thing, Princess.’

I set my jaw and took it out on the first walker we came across, after which the day became merely tedious. At least Daryl knew what he was doing as a woodsman. If money still meant anything I would have bet a lot of it against him being as light on his feet as he was, but when halfway through the morning he snuck up on a groundhog wuffling through some leaves and stabbed it through the neck with a knife before it could move, I had to admit to being quietly impressed. I’d become fairly accomplished in the outdoors but no way could I have got into arm’s reach of a skittish wild rodent.

We paused around noon after two and a half circles of the wall to check in with Sacha in her perch on the tower. She sounded nearly as bored as I felt, but confirmed there was nothing around the horizon to be concerned about before asking us to take care of a trio of walkers hanging about by the eastern river outlet.

Two went down with a knife in the skull easily enough, but the third was being uncharacteristically elusive by walker standards. I was about to climb a tree to get a better vantage when Daryl suddenly nudged my shoulder and tapped his lips with a finger, clearly listening intently. I waited, straining my ears, but only thing I could hear was the low whisper of the wind.

When Daryl raised his crossbow I nocked an arrow, but he fired before I could sight properly when the walker sidled out of a bush. The quarrel hit it so hard the neck snapped clean off and hit the floor with an almost comical splat. Then another one blundered out – Sacha apparently missed it in the foliage – and I loosed, dropping the thing with a shot right between its milky eyes. Fortunately that seemed to be it, and the arrow survived intact so I retrieved it for my quiver.

As I turned around Daryl checked the head of the bolt he’d just fired, and then to my lasting astonishment he slipped it back into the barrel and yanked the string back to the latch. By hand.

'What the hell is the draw on that thing?’ I exclaimed before I could stop myself.

'Huh?’

'The draw weight. On that-’ nodding to the weapon.

'I dunno. Hundred fifty, hundred sixty pounds?’

I managed – barely – not to gape at him, and then incredulity gave way to amusement when my expression seemed to unsettle him enough to provoke a defensive

'What?’

'At the ren fair one of the guys had a  _hundred_  pound draw crossbow and he had to lay on his back and push the string onto the latch with his  _feet_  to get it cocked.’

A snort.

'Pretty fucking stupid thing for him to carry, then.’

'That’s not the point-’ I began, but he was already moving off ’-you know you could just take the compliment, you  _ass_.’

'Guess I ain’t got your airs and graces, Princess.’

'Why the hell do you keep calling me that?’

'What, you left your tiara at home?’

'You  _are_  an ass.’ Then I stopped and nocked another arrow, ducking around him towards movement behind a treetrunk, but before I could kill the other walker lurking there he barged past me and stabbed it in the head, at an unfortunate angle that sprayed us both with gore. I was far beyond being even marginally put off by blood and guts by now, of course, but that didn’t mean I appreciated being coated in it.

'You’re welcome, Princess,’ Daryl said sarcastically.

'A  _kill-stealing ass_ ,’ I shot back, and moved on. At least the ability to have a hot shower to get rid of the mess meant I wouldn’t be blood soaked until it next rained, although it did little to diminish the urge to give him a good ding around the ear.


	5. Chapter 5

Things didn’t improve much over the next few days but when not out on foot patrol I did manage to get some more fletching done, with Carl dropping in now and then to assist although I noted with interest that he was also doing stints on watch duty at the gate alongside Rick.

When the initial trench was dug and the braced spikes up to give more of a safety zone around the gate Deanna declared a day off for morale purposes, waving off Rick’s objections that the work really needed to just get done. I went out anyway for the air and ended up perched on the broad branch of a tree that offered a good vantage of the portion of fence furthest from the main gate, peacefully sharpening more potential arrow shafts.

As it happened, I was at more or less the perfect angle to observe when a young woman who looked to be around Carl’s age came over the fence, having used a thick rug to traverse the barbed wire. She dropped down with an ease obviously borne of much practice, concealed the rug in a hedgerow, then tramped out into the woods.

Unfortunately while she was probably keeping eyes and ears peeled for walkers they didn’t have a habit of climbing trees, so when I shot an arrow down next to her foot she stopped short and whipped out a knife from her belt in clear alarm, peering around for the assailant.

‘Since you’re not screaming bloody murder, you must be Enid?’ I called, at which point she looked up and spotted me, but barely relaxed.

'Yeah…what are you  _doing_  up there?’

'Making arrows. You allergic to the main gate or something?’

She made a face.

'I’m not  _supposed_  to be out here. They say it isn’t safe.’

Ah. Add a spark of proper teenage rebellion the way only a catty fifteen year-old girl could manage and I had a good idea of the sort of recipe going on.

’ _They_  I’m guessing being those who’ve never actually stepped outside since the walls went up?’

'Bingo.’ She sheathed the knife on her belt and then regarded me for a moment. 'So you just what, come out here and hang out?’

'Sometimes. Beats hanging out in there. Fewer funny looks, for one thing.’

'I get that.’ She appeared to reach a decision and, with only some minor difficulty, clambered up the tree to the branch next to mine. 'You know, I never actually thought of climbing to avoid walkers.’

'Well, it only works if there aren’t many of them, and you know you can take them out to make a slow descent,’ I pointed out. 'Otherwise you can twist an ankle – or much worse – and then you’re pretty buggered.’

’ _Pretty buggered_ ,’ she repeated in a poor facsimile of my accent, and cracked a half smile. 'Normally I just run when I come out here.’

'Can’t run in the street? Or too closed in?’

'Like a rat in a trap.’ She hugged her knees up briefly. 'It feels too big to keep everyone safe. They worry about all the wrong stuff.’

'Yup.’ I started on another shaft. 'Only just started growing food, and sorting the damned fence out. It’ll be better once the palisade and the outer ditch are all in. I’d still prefer if some of the idiots in there would stop whining and learn to defend themselves, though.’

Enid shrugged.

'I’ve been thinking…’ she scratched at her nose '…of leaving.’

I stopped to dig out my whetstone and hone my knife sharp again.

'Going anywhere in particular?’

'Just somewhere not here.’ She picked idly at her nails and looked sideways at me. 'How come you stay?’

'Hot showers.’

'Seriously.’

'Seriously.’ I sighed. 'I don’t really know. If it wasn’t for Rick and his group I wouldn’t have. Deanna’s lot are…well, let’s face it, they’re pretty pathetic.’

'Rick scares me.’

'Don’t blame you. He scares me too.’ I risked a grin. 'But I figure better be on the same side as the scary dude with the enormous gun and veteran goon squad, right?’

’ _Goon squad_?’ But she cracked another lopsided smile. 'I guess that makes sense. At least it feels like they know what they’re doing with all this.’

We ended up sitting up there until quite late into the afternoon. I showed her how to whittle down pieces of tree and the basics of fletching with cardboard, and by the time the sun was low enough that practicality deemed it time to get back inside she had a half dozen pretty serviceable arrows to her name.

'Keep them,’ I said when she offered them back. 'Next step is getting you something to shoot them with. I’ll just need to find the right kind of branch to get started. In the meantime you can use them to poke boys with.’

'Works for me.’ She smiled – a genuine smile, a little shy – and fidgeted a little. 'Thank you.’

'Just promise me you’ll set fire to any out of date copies of  _Cosmo_  they give you.’

'Deal.’

On patrol the following day I kept my eyes peeled for a suitable bit of wood, and ended up splitting off when a likely young branch caught my eye.

'The hell you doing?’ Daryl asked when I started sawing at the joint with my knife.

'For a bow. Keep an eye out, would you?’

He grunted assent and lurked for a moment, then made a disparaging sound.

'You’ll be at it for hours with that shitty thing. Here.’

I glanced back to see him holding out a much chunkier knife with a decent serrated bite, handle first, that I didn’t recall seeing on him before. Probably better not to wonder where he’d pulled it from.

'Thanks.’

The jagged edge did indeed make much quicker work of getting the branch off. I quickly stripped it down of most of the bark and offshoots, then pulled out my whetstone and gave the blade a few swipes to bring the edge up again before handing it back. He inspected it with what seemed like grudging approval and then stowed it away again in one of his numerous pockets and holsters before moving back off without another word.

Not far off he suddenly stopped short. I hastened up alongside, sword drawn, only to see the less-than-threatening spectacle of the top half of a walker very gradually crawling its way along the ground.

'Stupid fucking geek,’ Daryl said with his usual eloquence, and shot it in the head.

'Where the hell is the other half, though?’ I pointed out. 'And more importantly, who halved it?’

'Let’s go find out.’

It wasn’t hard to follow the animated torso’s ungainly trail, although I admit I gave something of a start at the sight of what looked like a furry black boulder at the end of it.

'Is that a  _bear_?’

'Was. I think.’

But to be sure, Daryl threw a few rocks and then shot it. The bolt stuck and there was no reaction, so we could approach with something like impunity to find the unfortunate beast collapsed not far from the remains of its last meal - it wasn’t the first time I’d seen animals dead from eating bits of walkers, which were clearly toxic, but never something as large as a black bear. It seemed a little sad, the poor thing just collapsed there after what it thought would be an easy snack.

'He must’ve been hungry to go after a moving walker,’ I commented, crouching down to regard the glassy brown eyes.

'She,’ Daryl corrected, regarding the carcass with a measured eye. 'And yeah, real hungry.’ He glanced around and then did a slow circle, staring at the ground all the while.

'Skin’s worth keeping,’ I said, although the idea of skinning something that huge was reasonably daunting. 'Can’t touch the meat, but the fur…’

'Yeah,’ he said absently, and then abruptly started off in what seemed to me a pretty random direction.

'What the-’ but I went after him, since the bear wasn’t exactly going anywhere. He kept up a weird pattern, zig-zagging in a rough direction for a bit before pausing to look at the ground again, occasionally stooping to rummage in the leaves. I followed a few strides behind but caught him up as an earth bank with a partially collapsed old tree came into view. The roots seemed to have made a hollow of some sort which had been dug out.

'Is that-’

'Mama bear house.’

'Huh.’ I had to admit being impressed at that.

'Let’s see if she left the kids at home.’ Daryl sidled up to the opening and peered in. 'Yeah, she did.’

I hunkered down next to him. Four teddy-bear sized bundles of black fluff were nestled inside the den, deeply asleep – in fact one was snoring softly. They were maybe a couple of months old.

'You know, I used to have a Winnie-the-Pooh calendar in my office,’ I said with a sigh. 'Now I see these guys and my mind goes straight to steaks.’

'Way of the world, Princess.’ Daryl drew his knife and leaned in. At least it was quick – quicker at any rate than slowly starving without their mother’s milk to sustain them. Carrying two little bodies each, we went back to mama and spent a good hour laboriously stripping the skin off her. The damned thing was twenty pounds on its own if it was an ounce, but I had my usual coil of rope and there was enough wood around to improvise a serviceable drag-sled and haul the whole lot back to Alexandria.

Two of the guys on the gate went pale and one ducked away to throw up – the raw hide was, it had to be admitted, not exactly pleasing to the nose – but others jogged in to help so Daryl and Abraham got the thing hung up in a spare garage to dry out in relatively short order. The cubs went down to the Pantry where a rather dismayed Olivia refused to touch them. In the end it was Carol of all people who stepped in, a repulsed grimace on her face the whole time, to carve them up. There wasn’t much in the way of skin left but I appropriated what was salvageable to hang up next to the bigger hide. At the very least it could be cut up and braided into cord for something.

I was ready to retreat to bed but before I could close up Abraham all but dragged me bodily across the street where it turned out Rick’s group had set up a low fire in the back yard with some old grills over it and were roasting up a pair of the smaller cubs.

'Family barbecue?’ I asked dryly.

'This here’s a bonafide bear-burger cookout, ma'am,’ Eugene said to me solemnly. 'I’d much love to offer you a beer but I’m afraid we’re not in possession of any at this time.’

'He means sit your ass down and grab a plate,’ Abraham added with a grin.

'I’m really – ah – I’m fine-’ I tried to stop my nose twitching at the smell of roasting meat ’-it’s been a long day, what with dragging bears around the woods and whatever-’

'All the more reason to have your share, right?’ Tara said.

'Nah…Daryl did most of the work. I should-’

'Shut up and eat your damned bear burger,’ Daryl finished, materialising behind and shoving a loaded plate into my hands. 'Well, 'less you’re too good for it, Princess.’

He stomped across to sit on the other side of the fire before I could summon a suitable retort, by which point all there seemed to be to do was sigh, give in and sit down with the rest of the girls.

'Why does he call you that?’ Rosita asked me laughingly.

'No idea. Must be my accent or something. Or just because he knows it annoys me.’

'Hmm…probably a bit of both!’

Abraham joined us after a bit to flirt shamelessly with everyone in a hilariously bare-faced way, then two of the guys from Alexandria – Aaron and Eric, I remembered after a moment’s thought, the pair who had found and brought in Rick’s group in the first place – slid in on the far side of the fire. They’d brought beer, which was enough to ingratiate them to me considerably when it turned out to be Heineken rather than American rubbish, but I was genuinely startled to see that of all the people there they seemed most inclined to chat to Daryl. A gay couple that drank imported lager seemed an odd choice of friends for a crossbow-wielding redneck.

Unless…?

'Maggie, is Daryl gay?’

Glenn nearly choked on his drink.

'I don’t  _think_  so,’ Maggie said with a thoughtful grin.

'You don’t-’ in between mopping beer off himself, Glenn seemed torn between laughter and mortification ’-you don’t  _think so_? It’s  _Daryl._ ’

'So? You ever seen him with a lady friend?’ she pointed out playfully.

'Huh. Now you mention it-’

'Oh, god.’ I chuckled and buried my face in my hand. 'I was just curious.’

'Just curious, huh?’

'You can put your damned eyebrows down, Maggie, because  _yes_  just curious.’

'All right, all right…’

It seemed prudent to drop the subject for the evening, but I did go to say hello to Aaron on the basis that he was one of the few of the native Alexandrians I could stand being around for upwards of ten minutes, and also to compliment him on the beer.

'Go easy, Princess, hangover ain’t no excuse for not patrolling tomorrow,’ Daryl said dryly.

'I’m not that much of a lightweight, Dixon,’ I shot back. ’ _You_  better go easy – this is proper lager, not the water you Yanks normally call beer.’

He snorted.

'Never drank that piss 'less I was already drunk. Me and my brother used to make our own.’

'I didn’t know you had a brother,’ Aaron said.

’ _Had_.’ Daryl downed the last of the can.

'Oh.’ Aaron turned abashed. 'I’m sorry.’

'He was a son of a bitch.’ A one-shouldered shrug, somewhat dismissive. 'Ain’t worth being sorry over.’

I filed that away with interest. In truth the beer was making me somewhat drowsy – but then my tolerance was completely shot. I waved at Michonne on the way out, thanked Carol for cooking up the meat and then retired back to my garage, oddly glad I’d stuck around. Maybe I was getting a bit more used to being around people again.


	6. Chapter 6

The evening certainly seemed to have affected something, because the following morning as we crossed the river on patrol my curiosity couldn’t take it any more and decided to take direct control of my mouth.

‘Daryl, are you gay?’

'What the fuck?’ He actually stopped walking and turned around to look at me with an almost comical expression torn between disbelief and outright befuddlement. I had to bite my lip to stop from laughing, because it actually made him look kind of cute in a dopey sort of way.

'It’s not like it’s a  _problem_ , I just wondered-’

'Wondered?’

I gave up.

'You were pretty chatty with Aaron and Eric and I’ve not seen you like that with anyone else, and, well, given the differences in – um – socio-economic background-’

'I ain’t gay! Good lord, woman, get a hobby!’

For some reason that pronouncement – not to mention its delivery – struck me as hilarious and I was stifling giggles for most of the rest of the morning, although the quartet of walkers that stumbled out of a bush with arms outstretched and grabbing somewhat sobered me up.

Over the next few days we widened the patrol route out a bit from just the immediate perimeter of the wall to make sure the outer woods were as clear as they could reasonably get in preparation for the crews to go out and start pushing back the treeline. It was a lot more ground to cover but it also meant less time going over and over the same ground over and over again. In fact by the fifth day of spiralling out we were almost a mile away – which was further than it seemed in the woods.

If nothing else the hunting was better. We rarely came back without something to add to the Pantry – for Daryl usually a sling full of squirrels or voles or, on one memorable occasion, an enormous snake, and for me a more modest rabbit or two although I also got into the habit of bulk collecting herbs, roots, mushrooms and whatever else useful or edible I could lay my hands on.

'You’re like a deer,’ Daryl said to me one day as I rummaged around in a dense bit of undergrowth. 'Always browsing and nibbling.’

'Just a little gathering to go with all the hunting – ah-ha!’ I flipped my satchel open and pulled out one of the plastic baggies I kept in there.

'What you got? More weeds?’ Which was his way of asking if I’d found any more herbs, edible or medicinal.

'Better.’ Once I’d stripped most of the bush into the bag I stepped out with the remaining handful and stuck it out in offering with a grin. 'Didn’t realise it was even blueberry season.’

'Huh.’ But he did accept some and even cracked a sort of half-smile. 'You know, if we had a still-’

'I’m not going blind on your homemade liquor, Dixon.’

'Well sorry we ain’t got no fucking chardonnay, Princess.’

'Besides, the rest of this is going to Carol. Considering what that woman can do with half a jar of applesauce and a dead possum-’

I was cut off by a gunshot, absurdly loud in the otherwise silent forest, and on pure reflex dived to the ground.

'Shit. That weren’t one of ours.’ Daryl had hit the deck at the same moment I had, so we both by degrees rolled and wriggled into the scant cover provided by the undergrowth. Another shot rang out and I could have sworn the damned bullet whistled right by my ear.

'One of ours wouldn’t shoot at humans.’ I pulled my gun – a bow wasn’t much use while lying down – and gingerly parted some leaves to give a view in the direction of the shots. It wasn’t actually that hard to spot our assailants, given that they were wearing rather brightly coloured parka jackets. One had a hunting rifle and the other a shotgun.

Hmm.

'Third,’ Daryl said at a whisper. I followed his gaze and yep, there was another bastard lurking, but quite a way further back and reasonably well-hidden compared to the other two. Damn. That meant two things – firstly there could be more that neither of us had seen, and secondly that they were indeed trying to kill us.

As if the dead guys walking around wasn’t enough of a problem. Fucking humanity. I needed to get up higher, see what the hell was going on, but clambering up a tree right now was just going to get a rain of bullets down on both of us.

'There might be more,’ I murmured back.

'Yeah.’ Daryl was sighting down along his pistol towards the nearest one. 'No way to know how many.’

There was a low, muttered conversation going on between the two guys in front. They seemed pretty intent on finding us for some reason. They were also pretty jumpy, as they proved by hosing a bush down with bullets when Daryl chucked a rock into one nearby and made it rustle.

At least they were easily distracted.

'If we could get into the trees-’ I began.

'You go.’ Daryl hefted another rock, scanning the undergrowth ahead. 'I ain’t much for climbing.’

I considered arguing but there didn’t seem much point – agile as he was on the ground, if he wasn’t confident in his ability to get up a tree fast enough not to end up full of holes then it wasn’t worth debating the point.

'Stay low.’

He grunted and threw. I scrambled on my belly in the opposite direction as the wood erupted in gunfire, ducked under some brush and hauled myself upward onto the first branch I came across, shimmying up while trying to keep as much of my profile hidden behind the trunk as I could. There was some more noise from down below and what sounded alarmingly like additional gunfire on a much closer trajectory.

I tried to keep focused on what I was doing, and got myself seated on a wider branch with sufficient space to draw my bow.

One, two, nice and obvious. One further back, with rifle levelled. One more, same sort of distance…and one little fucker sneaking around back in a definite move towards where Daryl was lying in the blueberry bushes. I nocked an arrow, took careful aim and swallowed hard.

Daryl wasn’t Anika. But no way was I going to choose some random bastard over him.

I loosed and got the would-be ambusher solidly in the shoulder. He let out a howl of pain and surprise which was more than enough to alert Daryl, who rolled over and shot him in the head. Unfortunately of course that gave away his position and the ground around him erupted with rifle shots.

'Shit.’ I nocked, sighted and fired twice more which took care of most of them. The two at the back were out of my range though. I needed to get closer.

One of them dropped as I was casting about for a way to either switch trees or just make a rapid descent. I froze and quickly nocked another arrow, but as I scanned the lower treeline the final guy also dropped and the forest abruptly went quiet.

I waited a beat, then two, then three…and there was the gargling, groaning and other muted cacophony that heralded the approach of at least half a dozen walkers who’d caught onto the noise. I stayed put, shooting from the tree branch until I couldn’t hear or see any more of them. Only when the woods were silent again did I carefully slither down to the ground and cast about for Daryl.

I found the body of the guy who’d tried to sneak around first and forced myself to put a knife through his skull to be safe.

'Daryl?’

A grunt from the bushes led me to him. He’d managed to get a rifle off one of the dead ones nearby and used it to take out those beyond my bow range – some nice shooting.

'You okay?’ I asked, putting a hand down to help him up. He ignored it, bracing himself against the tree trunk and getting to his feet with obvious difficulty. 'Daryl? Oh,  _shit_ -’ the left side of his jacket was wet ’-you’re hit!’

'Yeah.’ He dabbed at the spot with one hand and regarded the bright red on his fingers with an oddly detached sort of interest. 'Huh.’

I crouched down and peeled away the wrecked layers of leather and shirt.

'Looks like a graze. You’ll be okay, but we need to get back-’ lacking anything else to hand, I used my knife to tear the sleeve off my flannel and bind him up as best I could ’-crap, the bullet didn’t stick but it’s deep.’

'No shit.’

'Woah-’ I managed to catch him in time when it turned out his thigh on the same side had also failed to enjoy the afternoon ’-okay, you just lean here for a sec.’ While he propped himself against the tree I retrieved his crossbow and slung it and the two rifles across my body along with my own bow, then pulled his arm over my shoulder so I could lend him support on the injured side. It wasn’t the easiest or most graceful progression, but we got moving at a sort of staggering lurch.

It was a good hour’s walk and we had to take a few breathers, mostly because Daryl was a big guy and I was carrying a lot even without him leaning on me – and I could tell he wasn’t giving me as much weight as his leg would have liked, either. Fortunately in a straight line we weren’t actually too far from Alexandria, and by a stroke of luck were moving almost directly towards the gate. It was starting to get dark by now, too, so I had to hope someone with half a brain was on sentry duty and wouldn’t shoot on sight.

Then a flashlight shone down onto the road into our faces and a voice that sounded remarkably like Aaron’s exclaimed

'It’s them!’

'A little help?’ I called.

The gate rolled open to admit several running figures, then Rick and Abraham were there taking Daryl’s weight off me, Sacha was looping the rifles off my back and Michonne was lifting the crossbow and part of the burden off my own legs by swinging one of my arms around her shoulders.

'You know,’ she said, 'Carrying him for that long, you’ve probably got fleas.’

'I know,’ I replied. 'God, he stinks.’

'Yeah, he does.’

Denise, the town doctor, had the thankless task of patching Daryl up although he turned out not to need stitches and in any event was only out of action for a couple of days – although whether that was by medical advice or self-diagnosis was never really made clear. Rick insisted that patrolling pulled back to just walking the walls again to keep them clear, and joined me himself while Daryl was kept forcibly indoors. How Carol managed that I decided not to ask. Maybe she just parked Judith on him or something.

At any rate Rick was fine as a patrol partner, again lighter on his feet than I would have given him credit for, and even though his revolver still made me distinctly nervous he rarely drew it, more generally stepping back to let me silently shoot any walkers we came across although he also carried a chunky knife and was more than able to use it.

'You did good,’ he said to me at the end of the third day as we worked our way back to the gate.

'Huh?’

'Bringing Daryl back like that. Did you a lot of good with us. With me.’

'What else would I have done?’ I exclaimed. 'Left him there to bleed? Besides, he’s a tough bastard – he’d only have got back eventually under his own steam  _and_  kicked my ass for leaving him.’

That got a rare grin.

'Well, that’s true. But still. I’m glad I didn’t shoot you, that night on the porch.’

'Hey, I’m glad you didn’t shoot me too.’ I rubbed at the back of my neck – I was out of practice at stuff like this. 'For what it’s worth, I’m glad I decided to poke my nose in over the wall.’

'That too.’ He rolled the gate closed and locked it once I was inside. 'You should come eat with us tonight. You don’t have to be alone.’

The invite was oddly touching – it meant a lot, too, coming from Rick, because both his kids were living in that house – so I went over that evening. If nothing else it was a chance to indulge in Carol’s cooking. I dug into my private stash of herbs – a growing collection drying above me in the garage in string-tied bundles – and took some over as a thank you since I hadn’t really hunted anything in a while. Rick was better with snares but we didn’t want to risk leaving trapped animals near the walls to draw in walkers.

Daryl was on his feet, although noticeably favouring his left side and still carrying a slight limp. I nodded to him by way of greeting but didn’t expect him to approach me.

'You’re stronger'n you look, Princess.’

'Well, you’re heavier than you look,’ I shot back. 'How’s the side?’

'Be fine.’

'You’re welcome.’

A grunt.

'I’d’ve got back on my own.’

'I don’t doubt it.’

'Good.’

That seemed to be that, and the following day when I made my way to the gate he was there, shirt and trousers both expertly patched – Carol at work again – and checking the line of his crossbow with a critical eye.

'Sure you’re cleared for active duty, tiger?’ I asked pointedly.

'I’m fine.’ He flipped the gate open without further discussion and half strode, half limped out and down the road. I sighed and followed.


	7. Chapter 7

The good news was that there seemed to be no sign of any further intruders. After a week Daryl and I backtracked to the location and found the bodies still there – one reanimated, but we got rid of him – so stripped them down of guns, ammo, coats, boots and anything else potentially useful, then dropped the remains into a nearby ditch and covered them up with dirt and leaves to be on the safe side.

One of them had a small flask of bourbon on him, which mysteriously never found its way back to the Pantry although I never saw hind nor hair of it. I didn’t bother asking Daryl. He doubtless had his own stash of more than a bit of booze somewhere – hell, the whole of that group probably had a bolthole with supplies outside the walls if they needed to vacate in a hurry. I kept mine in a small hollow at the top of a particular tree outside.

I did, however, find time to carve down the branch and even found some more fishing wire for a bowstring. With a few targets set up in the park – to the lasting dismay of Father Gabriel, the priest who’d come in with Rick’s group but most definitely was  _not_  with them in any sense, as he’d been using it for outdoor prayer meetings – Enid took to shooting with considerable enthusiasm, and then the damned idea of bows and arrows seemed to catch on with the natives so I was getting badgered to make more. I suppose it had been a while since anything new and accessible to kids had come to the town.

To my lasting surprise Daryl came back from one of his solo hunts with about a dozen springy branches, already stripped and ready to carve, in one of the oddly magnanimous gestures that he seemed capable of when the mood took him. So then everyone under sixteen wanted a bow, which led to teaching the older ones how to carve them out of the branches and thus onto basic knife safety and use. Abraham and Rick dragged in an old treetrunk from outside for the kids to practise shooting at and stabbing, and Rosita started giving blade handling lessons to anyone who wanted it regardless of age group.

Then the youngsters started having competitions around draw weight – Carl was noticeably in the lead by a wide margin on that front, but then he was generally in better shape than any of his peers – until Enid disdainfully pointed out that you didn’t  _need_  much draw to put down a walker, at which point precision abruptly became the tactic of choice. Here Carl and Enid tended to tie – his eye for shooting was better but her draw more controlled, likely because he was more accustomed to guns than muscle-powered projectiles.

‘Haven’t seen Carl have this much fun in a long time,’ Rick said to me one day, having been leaning against the open garage door for a little while watching today’s target practice.

'He’s a good shot, too,’ I said. 'Just needs to rush less. Spends too much time trying to fire like a veteran archer and not enough watching what he’s actually doing.’

'He was the same with guns, too. He’ll improve.’

'Getting to shoot at something other than a stationary target would be good,’ I pointed out. 'Enid could use that too, and she’s hankering to get outside again.’

That got me a distinctly amused look.

'You offering to teach, or chaperone?’

'Ha…probably a bit of both. But we both know I’m not the best person to teach anyone to hunt, Rick.’

He chuckled.

'Oh, he won’t go for it.’

'Already tried?’ I had to grin at the idea. 'Man’s got no patience – well, no, that’s wrong – he’s not got the  _right kind_  of patience for teaching kids. Let alone unruly teenagers.’

'Which leaves you.’

'I’m no Carol.’

'No, but you get the older ones at least. Got Enid’s head on something like straight. And Carl likes you.’

Well, that was a random nugget of information worth knowing.

'Maybe once Rosita says they’re good enough to stab out something more dangerous than a dead tree trunk.’

'You got it.’

I did, however, give in to Enid’s pleas and take her out at the crack of dawn one morning to at least give her something like live fire practice. She wasn’t fearless around walkers – which was reassuring, because lack of fear usually meant ample stupidity – but held her ground long enough to sight properly and took two down. She also shot her first rabbit – not the cleanest kill but better than I’d done on my first attempt.

'Oh wow, honey, nice job – but you don’t need to worry about hunting, not at your age,’ was Olivia’s verdict when I tried to play the responsible adult and made Enid take the catch to the Pantry rather than directly to Carol.

'I’m fifteen,’ Enid shot back in the immediately-scathing manner only a slighted teenage girl could muster, dumping the carcass on the counter and wheeling about to storm back outside. I sighed, shot Olivia a glare and then started after her. To my lasting astonishment, however, she was sitting on the kerb chuckling to herself rather than throwing a huff. I sat down beside her.

'Well, I didn’t expect the hilarity…’

'It’s just funny.’ She shrugged. 'I mean, like a woman who spends all day sitting on her ass counting cans of baked beans knows shit about what anyone should be worrying about.’

I had to grin at that.

'Very true. Although the world needs bean counters.’

'Yeah. Till it runs out of beans.’

'Well, until then…’ I stood '…I need to get to the gate for patrol.’

She ended up walking with me although stopped a good way off where Daryl was waiting, looking singularly pissed at my tardiness although I was only maybe ten minutes off our usual meeting time. He unlatched the gate and strode out without so much as a nod of greeting, and was unusually reticent by even his standards for the rest of the day. By the time we got back I was just about ready to shoot him in the other leg and even out his limp, barely perceptible though it now was. Fortunately he stomped off in the direction of the house, right past where Carol was on the porch with Judith, before I could say anything. I saw her glance after him in surprise and then over at me with a questioning expression, and managed to construct a kind of exasperated  _fucked if I know_  shrug before heading inside myself.

I was bundling the day’s herbs up for drying when the door banged open and shut – an unusual enough occurrence, even without the lack of courtesy knock. To my astonishment it was Daryl, carrying a bundle of rough string which he dumped on the countertop. I looked at it and then at him in puzzlement.

'From Carol,’ he said. 'For your  _poe-puhree_.’ Which was his typically disparaging way of referring to the herb bundles.

'Okay. Uh. Thanks?’ But I couldn’t help the smirk that crept out. 'So do I tip, or…?’

'She said you were pissed at me.’ A half-shrug. 'Thought I ought to come over and  _make nice_.’

Wow. My baffled awe of Carol’s den-motherly nature escalated another ten notches. But still…

’ _I’m_  pissed at  _you_?’

'I don’t know.’ Another one-shouldered shrug. 'Whatever.’

'Fine. Whatever. Consider what little  _nice_  you have thoroughly made.’

'So you going to unbunch your panties or what?’

 _Ugh_.

’ _I’m_  fine, Dixon, but after today…what the hell crawled up your ass and died?’ I snapped.

'Crawled up  _my_ ass? You’re the one too busy playing Robin Hood with a bunch of snot-nosed kids and showing up late to the real work, Princess.’

I don’t know if it was Olivia’s idiocy that morning, or the Robin Hood thing, or the kids, or the continued, infuriating  _princess_  in that bloody Southern drawl, but for some reason I went from zero to pissed in nothing flat and lashed out over the counter, punching him pretty hard on the arm.

He stared at me in a kind of incredulous bewilderment and I took a moment to be thankful the counter island was between us, especially when he took a single heavy step towards me and his expression darkened.

'You want to  _go_ , Princess? 'Cause I’ll go  _right_ now.’

'Oh, you’re going to beat up a hundred pound woman, Dixon? That’s  _really_  tough. Want me to wait while you go down a Bud first, or you prefer to hit me up sober?’

His eyes flashed dangerously at that and the word  _whoops_  inserted itself into my mind. That seemed to have touched a rather raw nerve.

'I ain’t starting nothing,’ he said in a low voice. 'But if you start I’ll sure as hell finish, Princess.’

At least he wasn’t going to claim he didn’t hit girls, or something stupid. Props for that. But it didn’t make me want to pound on his head any less, and the once-more titled insult kept my temper hot which was why the next words out of my mouth were

'Stop  _calling_  me that, you bloody redneck bastard!’

In a flash he was around the counter – good god, the man was fast – and on top of everything else I was having to tilt my head back to glare up at him.

'I know what I am. And what I ain’t. And at least I ain’t some stuck-up little college bitch playing at castles.’

I swung at him – again on blind anger devoid of anything like common sense – and he caught my fist in one palm, holding it there with laughable ease when I attempted to yank it back.

'Your idea of making nice  _sucks_ , Dixon.’

'I ain’t the one punching people.’

For some reason that pissed me off even more and with my free hand I yanked my spare knife off my belt and raised it before I was consciously aware that I was drawing on him. Which was, in retrospect, something so far beyond merely stupid that it could barely see stupid in the distance.

Daryl caught my wrist with his other hand and regarded the blade in it with mild surprise.

'Now  _that_  ain’t nice.’

I set my jaw and tried to free a hand from his grip – either would do at this point – but of course with absolutely zero success. Bracing my legs, I tensed my shoulders ready to headbutt him but as I moved he shifted and I ended up pinned on my back on the counter. One short but painful twist of my wrist later and the knife clattered to the floor too.

It occurred to me in an oddly detached fashion that I ought to be terrified. I was alone in the house, as good as unarmed – the backup knife in my boot might as well have been in the next county – and essentially at the mercy of a man who, before the collapse, I would have hurriedly crossed the street to avoid. Daryl stank of sweat and woods and dirt and he wasn’t struggling even slightly to hold me in place.

It was only then that it dawned on me that this was at least partially to do with the fact that I wasn’t actually trying to get away from him. The realisation was like a slap in the face and without making a conscious decision I leaned up and caught his lips briefly in mine.

He froze, seeming shell-shocked at the motion, and loosened his hold by a nail. It was just enough for me to wrench free but I suddenly didn’t actually want to be anywhere else, and instead grabbed the front of his shirt to pull him closer, hooking one leg up and around the back of his thigh.

That seemed to count as a starting gunshot because suddenly his mouth was on mine, sloppy and messy, trailing down my neck and onto my collarbone, leaving skin on fire in its wake. I tangled my hands in his hair – dishevelled, greasy, but who gave a crap – and arched my back up so our hips ground together, feeling a little groan escape because he was rock solid and  _right_  there…

I didn’t expect him to flip me over and start tugging at my jeans, but when he did I reached down to my belt to hurriedly flip open the buckle and pull down the zipper. I could hear similar hasty sounds from behind me before there was cold air on the back of my thighs and then warm skin and then it was fast and hard and  _god_  so damned good. I managed to brace myself against the countertop on my forearms, panting in time with his rough thrusts and pushing back against him with an increasingly frantic edge, chasing more of that delicious friction. My cheek fell onto the cool counter with a cry as it peaked, and I felt Daryl’s breath on the back of my neck go ragged as his body jerked helplessly into mine.

There was a moment of silence aside from a last few mutual gasps and then he stood, turning away. I took the opportunity to pull my jeans back up and sort out the fasteners – still leaning quite heavily on the counter, I might add – and then we were both just sort of standing there, not quite looking at each other but not quite avoiding each other’s gazes either.

_Shit._

'I’ll – uh – I’ll see you for patrol tomorrow,’ Darryl said suddenly, still not looking at me properly. 'Don’t be late this time, right?’

'Right,’ I said. 'Sure.’ Then, as he made for the door, 'Tell Carol thanks for the – uh – the string.’

'Yeah.’

Then he was gone.

I stood there for a moment until it felt like I could trust my knees to get back onboard with being upright and the whole standing up programme in general, and ran a hand through my hair.

That was one of the most stupid things I could recall doing in a  _long_  time. I felt for the little nubbin implanted at the top of my left arm on a reflex but of course it was still there, and I’d had it put in before I came over to the US so the little widget was good for a couple more years at least. Not that getting pregnant was necessarily where I ought to be placing my primary concerns, considering I’d just been bent over a kitchen counter by man so rednecked you could all but hear a banjo twang whenever he opened his mouth.

Not that there was much anyone could do about that now.


	8. Chapter 8

I had a shower, more for the practical consideration of getting rid of the sweat than anything else, prepped my gear for patrol on the morrow and then went to bed. There didn’t seem much else to do. Certainly I slept as soundly as I ever had in the garage, rising when the sun began to peak through the door slats and getting myself in order for the usual external wall check. Rick had finally consented to extending the patrol perimeter out again since our last unwelcome visitors had proven to be on their own, which at least meant covering some more ground and potentially getting a bit of decent hunting in.

I actually beat Daryl to the gate, a rare occurrence. I even kept my face impassive when he arrived, settling for a neutral nod of greeting and unlatching the gate so we could get going. As usual his longer strides meant he ended up leading, but I kept pace a little way behind and everything felt…fine. Normal. Which was…also fine, on reflection.

A lone walker stumbled into view, smelled us and adjusted its course.

‘Got it.’ Daryl drew his knife and went to deal with it. I spotted another just behind that one as he moved forward, nocked an arrow and shot it before it could get in arm’s reach of him. We both waited a beat to be sure that was it, then stowed weapons and carried on.

If nothing else, last night seemed to have cleared the air.

I spent the last part of the afternoon after getting back finishing off some more arrows, accompanied by Carl, Enid and another lad of the same age whose name I’d forgotten. An Alexandrian native, he was an insufferable little shit but, judging by my guess at teenage interpersonal dynamics, seemed intent on doing everything Carl did so as not to be shown up in front of Enid.

'I can’t believe you’re shooting the ones you make yourself,’ he said to her.

Ron, I abruptly remembered. That was the sullen little sod’s name.

'They’re just arrows,’ Enid replied calmly. 'Once you know how to make them, it isn’t hard.’

I caught her eye and hid a grin; she was fully aware that Ron still had yet to master the basic art of whittling a stick into a straight shaft. He was far too heavy-handed and kept snapping them.

'I’d rather shoot a gun,’ he said grumpily.

'Me too,’ Carl said with a shrug, 'But a bow is silent, and you can make more ammo much easier. Plus it’s lighter, and you don’t need to worry about the recoil. Just the draw.’ He sighed. 'I wish I could tighten mine up.’

'Easy, tiger,’ I said with a smile. 'We can’t all have big tree-trunk arms like Daryl. Give it a few years and keep up that squirrel-heavy diet.’

That got a grin, but then Carol called him for dinner and he reluctantly packed up, heading off with a wave. Jessie was soon shouting for Ron so he sloped off too, leaving Enid and I fletching together in peace for a bit.

'You think Carl likes me?’ she asked after a minute or two.

Oh, lord.

'Sure, he likes you fine.’

'You  _know_  what I mean.’

'Not a Ron fan, are we?’

'He’s an ass. I liked him at first…when I first got here, I mean. He was…normal. But now it’s like…he’s  _too_  normal, you know? Like from before. Just seems stupid.’ A pause. 'Carl’s scary.’

'He’s got a scary dad. Must run in the family.’

She snorted.

'All that group are scary. Even Carol, sometimes. When she thinks nobody is looking her face goes…different.’

'Different how?’

'Different…scarier. Harder. Like she’s watching for something. I don’t know.’

That was an interesting observation. Carol had always seemed harmless to me, but I filed Enid’s view away for further consideration. The girl wasn’t stupid, and she might have spotted something I’d missed.

A couple of days later on patrol, in a vague effort to make conversation, I tried asking Daryl how Carol had ended up with the rest of the group.

'She was there from the start,’ he replied. 'Back in Atlanta.’

'Yeesh. She’s one tough lady.’

'Yeah.’ He stopped walking and cocked his head, frowning. 'You hear that?’

I stopped walking and listened. There was a vague sound of shuffling.

'Could be walkers. I’ll head up and check.’

He grunted assent so I found a suitable tree and clambered into the upper branches, pulling the old rifle lens Michonne had given me out of my bag to use as a kind of improvised telescope.

 _Crap._  It was walkers, over a dozen of them, stumbling along in a group. They weren’t heading for Alexandria – their course, if undisturbed, would have them ambling off to the east and missing the town altogether – but they were still closer to the walls than was comfortable.

I carefully climbed down again and dropped to the floor.

'Group of walkers. Fourteen, fifteen maybe? Heading east.’

'Damned close.’ Daryl wrinkled his nose and I could tell he was making the same calculation I was. Walkers were drawn to other walkers for some reason, which why it was a good idea to put down any in your way so they didn’t group up with others. Fifteen was pushing it. That was the beginnings of a real herd – the sort of big gangs of the buggers that could really ruin your day.

'We keep our distance, thin them out,’ I suggested. 'Or we could go back and get some of the others to help, maybe Rick and Michonne-’

'They could be long gone by the time we get back. Let’s clear 'em now.’ Daryl hefted his crossbow and I reluctantly followed him in the direction of the group, wishing we were back at the wall so could call on Sacha for sniper support. I’d cleared groups bigger than this – not a  _lot_ , but bigger – on my own, but usually from a safe vantage point.

'Sure you don’t want to get up higher?’ I tried.

'Nah.’ He glanced at me. 'You go ahead, if you want.’

'Holler if you get swamped.’ I shifted to a jog and then scrambled up a decent-looking trunk when I was a ways ahead of him, close enough to the walkers that I could hear them gurgling. There was a nice broad branch with a good vantage of the group so I got myself situated and started shooting. With any luck I could thin them enough that a couple of crossbow bolts and a light bit of knife work could put paid to the rest.

Then I saw the other group – easily another dozen, probably drawn to the first, coming in at an almost completely perpendicular angle that put them dead on course for Alexandria.

'Shit. Daryl!’ I shot down another of the first lot, scanning the ground frantically. Where  _was_  he?

The  _thunk_  of a crossbow bolt knocking a walker’s head off gave me a rough direction, but even with those beefcake arms he couldn’t reload as fast as I could and they’d be on him inside of one or two more shots. I kept focus on the first group, trying to take out as many as possible, until I found myself groping into an empty quiver.

Double shit.

I caught sight of Daryl smacking his machete into one rotten skull and then kicking the corpse out of the way, but he turned a mite too quickly to avoid one reaching for him from behind and ended up having to clout it over the head with the stock of his crossbow to get it off him.

Cursing, I slithered down the tree and drew my knife. It was a sturdy combat Gerber with one straight and one serrated edge, a recent acquisition Rick had given me when he noticed I didn’t have a good one. It also had a pleasing weight to it that my old utility blade lacked, so the connection with the first walker’s skull was pretty satisfying. I twisted it on exit to dislodge from the bone and then swung again at the next.

The flurry of hand to hand fighting – or hand to tooth, rather – always seemed to take place in a kind of weird slow motion. Maybe it was adrenalin, or the real-world equivalent of my life flashing before my eyes with every swing and dodge. Either way it seemed both a heartbeat and a short eternity later when I heard Daryl yell for me to duck; I hit the ground on reflex and watched the final walker collapse with his last bolt embedded in its left eye socket.

All of a sudden the woods were eerily quiet except for our two sets of laboured breathing. I levered myself upright, heart thumping like mad. Covered in gore, soaked with sweat…but not bitten, and not dead.

'You bit?’ Daryl asked.

'No. You?’

'No.’ He reached down to try and yank the bolt free of the walker and swore fluently when it snapped instead, giving the offending skull a violent kick in retribution and then shooting me a glare. 'Nice  _recon_  by the way, Princess. You never learn how to fucking count?’

'The second lot came from another direction,’ I snapped, rotating my arm to ease the ache in my shoulder. 'I can’t see everything at once from up there.’

'What’s the point of fucking around in a tree if it ain’t even any good for a heads-up?’ he demanded, rather more loudly than was necessary.

'The point is I wouldn’t have seen  _either_  group coming until they were chowing down on your rednecked ass,’ I shot back, voice rising in turn as post-battle adrenalin ebbed and gave way to anger at his attitude. 'For which, by the way,  _you’re welcome_.’

'I was  _handling_  it until you got in the way!’ He rounded on me and gestured wildly at the walkers. 'If you had half a brain you’d have stayed up  _in_  the god damned tree!’

'I was out of arrows, you ungrateful prick, and I knew there were more coming!’ I was practically screaming in his face now and didn’t even care. 'If  _that_  group were even the last on the move around here!’

'If they wasn’t they’d have shown up by now, with your shrieking!’

’ _My_  shrieking? You’re the one started getting loud-’ I didn’t get any further because he suddenly lunged forward, pinning me up against the nearest tree trunk with his body. Surprised, indignant, and oddly turned on, I could only stare at him in confusion.

'Shut up,’ he said, sloppily crushing his mouth over mine while his free hand slid down to pull at my clothes.

 _Oh_.

I batted him away to unclip my own belt and then wrestled with the top button on his khakis as he shoved my jeans and underwear down. He pressed up close when I got him free and then  _holy shit_ all I could do was grab onto his shoulders as he fucked me right up against the tree in the woods with a pile of dead walkers not five steps away. And god help me, I still came hard enough that my knees gave way under me.

Afterwards we hastily salvaged what arrows and bolts we could from the dead, then set off back for the town gate as the sun started to slip down over the horizon.

'You’re late,’ Rick said by way of greeting as he met us inside. 'What happened?’

'Walkers. Couple of dozen.’ Daryl shrugged. 'Ain’t going to bother us now.’

'Start of a herd?’

'Nah. We hung around to be sure.’

If I hadn’t been so tired I would have had to stifle a guffaw.  _Hung around_? Sure,  _that_  was what we’d been doing when I’d had to bite my lip so hard I’d almost drawn blood to prevent making even more noise…

'Good job. Thanks.’ Rick nodded, pleased and grateful – one of the things I’d come to like about him was that he always seemed to be appreciative that way when someone did something for the town, as if it was a personal favour specifically for him – and then stood aside.


	9. Chapter 9

I was so exhausted that I didn’t even shower before collapsing into my bedroll in the garage. At least patrols over the next few days were entirely uneventful, which if nothing else gave me a chance to replenish some arrows. In fact I’d barely refilled my quiver three days later when Glenn came by.

‘I don’t suppose you know anything about how people dragged big stuff out of rivers in the Middle Ages, do you?’

'Uh…what are we dragging?’

The answer, once he got myself, Daryl, Abraham, Tara, Heath and Nicholas to the river bank in question, turned out to be a fuel tanker with the remains of a caravan tied to the back of it. The assembly, presumably put together by someone on the run post-collapse, must have been parked up somewhere when a levee broke during a rainstorm and been washed downriver in the ensuing floodwater.

The damp-bloated and thoroughly disgusting lone walker clawing ineffectually at the caravan window was a minor problem, but getting the damned lot out of the river to salvage what we could was going to be a pain in the ass.

'Hope nobody minds wet feet,’ Abraham said cheerfully. 'I’m thinking we have a wade in, get us more of a feel of the situation in there.’

The lunatic Texan seemed to quite enjoy the idea of being whisked away by the current but Tara and I badgered him into using some rope with one end around his waist and the other securely anchored to a solid tree on the bank.

'She’s caught on the rocks, or her undercarriage is,’ he called after resurfacing by the truck cab. 'But from the feel of her-’ knocking on the main tanker ’-she’s still plenty full of gas.’

'Shit, there’s got to be gallons in there,’ Glenn said. 'We have to figure out how to get it out.’

'We could tow it?’ Heath suggested.

'Nah.’ Daryl scuffed his boot along the muddy bank. 'You’d use more gas getting the damned thing out.’

'If we could release the undercarriage I think the tank’d float,’ Tara said. 'My dad used to drive those.’

'Yeah, 'cept the caravan’s attached to the undercarriage, not the tank,’ Nicholas pointed out.

'The caravan’s small fry compared to the tank.’ I raised my voice. 'Abraham, you see anything in the caravan worth going after?’

'Other than the fat boy here?’ By which he meant the walker. 'Nah. Some blankets and shit. Maybe a few cans. I vote we cut that loose and focus on the gas.’

In the end Darryl and Glenn swam out too while the rest of us hurled more rope out to stop the tank from drifting off when it was loose. It took a bit of kicking – and quite a lot of cussing – but they got the caravan unattached from the truck and floating on its merry way downstream with its corpse occupant. That just left the somewhat trickier issue of getting the truck uncoupled from the tank, especially as the cab was mostly underwater.

'The damned release is shot,’ Abraham said after a brief underwater excursion. 'We’ll have to cut this bastard by hand.’

'So we get it ashore and  _then_  what?’ I asked. 'We need it on dry land  _and_  mobile.’

'There’s a trailer back in town the construction crews use,’ Heath offered. 'For the wall materials. If we strap it down well enough…’

'Except how do we get it  _onto_  the trailer?’

'One thing at a time, right?’ Tara grinned. 'Heath, can you and Nick go get the trailer? We’ll keep working on getting this thing beached.’

The pair took the car and headed off, leaving the five of us with the bigger head-scratcher. While the guys took it in turns to dive and hack at the various connectors keeping tank married to truck, I squatted and doodled idly in the mud with one finger.

'We can’t drag it…too heavy. We’d need to  _roll_  it somehow, like the rocks at Stonehenge…’

'Plenty of trunks about. Last heavy rain broke the banks all over.’ Tara shrugged. 'If we can just get it going  _towards_  the bank rather than straight down the river…’

'The strongest thing  _here_  is the river.’ I stared at the floating hulk for a moment, willing my brain to catch up. 'If we could use that somehow to move the tank for us…’

'That still won’t get it onto the trailer.’

'No, but-’ then it hit me and I grabbed a stick, sketching rapidly in the mud ’-if we get the trailer into the water and  _under_  the tank once it’s loose, we strap it down there, then the truck can pull the trailer _and_  the tanker out and nobody apart from the river will have had to really lift anything.’

The undercarriage chose that moment to creak free and shoot away after the caravan, leaving the tank itself straining against the ropes we’d put on it but definitely afloat. I waved the guys ashore to explain the plan.

'That might actually just work,’ Abraham said with a grin. 'I’m surely far more for sinking a trailer under the tank than trying to lift the damned thing myself.’

'We’re not dragging it?’ Glenn confirmed, sounding relieved as he wrung out his shirt. 'Thank god.’ Then he flinched and shot a glare at Daryl, who’d waded out of the river and just shaken himself off like a dog, re-soaking everyone.

Heath and Nicholas didn’t take long with the construction rig, so in relatively short order we had the trailer into the water, where of course it turned out to be made of lightweight fiberglass and disinclined to sink under the tank where we wanted it.

'Stupid fancy-ass piece of shit,’ Daryl shouted at it, then locked his arms around one of the bars and dove. It went down with him a short way and then abruptly resurfaced as he did, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes and shooting a look of astonished disdain at the rest of us in general.

'You fuckers want to  _help_  maybe?’

Our combined weights – sans Heath, who was in the driver’s seat of the rig – were more than sufficient to pull the trailer under the water and although it took a couple of tries we did manage to manoeuvre it under the tank to get the pair lashed together. Once that was done it was relatively short work to shove the floating ensemble to shallower water until it started to meet mud, then connect the tow cable so the rig could pull it out and onto the road.

'Well I’ll be a son of a bitch,’ Abraham said, beaming. 'It only went and fucking worked!’

We piled into the truck – in the progress getting an until-then dry Heath absolutely soaked through – and set off back to town, where Tobin gaped in astonishment at the mud-encrusted state of his trailer until being somewhat mollified by finding out what it had been used to bring back.

I got cleaned up with a quick shower and was just ambling back into the garage to dry my hair when I heard unusually loud laughter from the house opposite. Poking my head out of the side door I nearly doubled over laughing myself at the sight of Carol and Maggie chasing Glenn and Daryl down the porch onto the street.

'Wet I don’t mind but you clean that mud off before you set foot in here!’ Carol shouted, and to my lasting delight actually threw a towel at Daryl’s head.

'You too, mister,’ Maggie added to Glenn. 'There’s a hose in the back yard!’

'What?’ he exclaimed. 'I was coming in to use the  _shower_!’

'You can shower when you ain’t dripping mud up the stairs and all over Judith!’

'Something the matter, gentlemen?’ Abraham asked with a rakish grin from the neighbouring porch – he, Tara, Eugene and a couple of the others had split off to live next door, but I knew he had in fact rinsed himself off in the yard before going inside to clean up properly, because we’d used the same tap. Then again he’d been married before the collapse and so was, as my mother would have put it, better house-trained when it came to things like mud and carpets.

'They kicked us out!’ Glenn protested, apparently hoping for sympathy.

'So I see.’ Abraham caught my eye and his grin broadened. 'Maybe we oughta call a constable. Seems you got a little domestic situation on your hands, there. Trouble in paradise! Sad to see.’

I left them to it so I could finish drying my hair, but as I got into the garage proper my eye fell on the hose pipe looped around a bracket on the wall.  _I shouldn’t_. But hell, a girl had to get her yayas somewhere, right?

Nobody seemed to notice as I rolled the door up – Glenn looked to have given up and vanished somewhere to acquiesce to his wife’s demands, and Daryl was standing with his hands on his hips glaring at a still-laughing Carol and Maggie while Abraham needled him from the other porch.

I lifted the nozzle and took careful aim.

'Oh,  _hell_  no!’ Abraham spotted me and gave a loud guffaw, earning himself a squint from Daryl.

'Hey, Dixon,’ I called. 'Heads up.’

To give the man credit he didn’t even flinch when the cold water hit him full in the face, although both Maggie and Carol had stopped laughing and were gaping at the street in a kind of horrified glee. Abraham was howling in amusement of course, and when Glenn re-emerged from the back yard wringing out his shirt he stopped short in astonishment before taking a couple of quick steps back to avoid the runoff.

It was working, too. The dirt was coming off in muddy rivulets.

'Think anyone can go get that god damned video camera fast enough?’ Abraham called. Daryl glanced over and gave him the finger, then turned around and raised his arms so I could hose down the rest of him.

'What in the hell is going on? Enough racket down here to wake all the dead who aren’t already up-’ Rick cut himself off as he, Carl and Michonne arrived, and then broke into the broadest grin I’d ever seen on him.

'Pardon me, officer,’ I said, barely keeping a straight face, especially when Michonne clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle some distinctly girlish giggles. 'Just a little street cleaning operation.’ Then I turned the hose off, because amazingly the water was now running mostly clear.

'Fucking assault is what it is,’ Daryl said, pushing his soaked hair out of his eyes. 'I oughta press charges.’

'I think we can let her off with a warning this time,’ Rick said.

'So much for fucking law and order.’ Daryl stomped – or rather squelched – towards the porch, where Maggie and Carol all but dove out of his way. In the doorway he paused and glanced back, raising a foreboding finger to point at me before heading inside. 'I’ll be back for  _you_  later.’


	10. Chapter 10

Of course the key to a good prank is knowing when to make a graceful exit, so I stowed the hose and then closed up the garage. Daryl wasn’t  _really_ pissed – I was starting to get a sense for his moods – although he’d probably act like it for at least the next couple of days for appearance’s sake.

I was therefore rather surprised when he gave me his usual neutral nod of greeting when we started off on patrol the following morning. In fact it wasn’t for the fact he was cleaner than I think I’d ever seen him I might have been tempted to think I’d hallucinated the entire hosing-down incident.

‘You know,’ I said after a couple of hours when it was starting to verge on creepy, 'If you’re going to kill me you might as well get on and do it.’

'Nah, I ain’t going to kill you.’ He constructed a shrug. 'That’d be going too easy.’

I opened my mouth to attempt a response, although I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to  _that_ , when he held up a hand in warning and went very still. I froze and felt for my knife, but any alarm faded when I saw what he had – the deer a little way off between the trees, staring back at us both. It was a doe, with a lovely tawny pelt, and under other circumstances I would have been having a full-on Disney moment, but deer these days weren’t for admiring.

'Hold still,’ Daryl said in a low voice, and I saw that he was very, very gradually bringing his crossbow to bear. The doe flicked her tail and chewed the cud for a moment, her black eyes still trying to watch us both.

 _Thud_.

It was a beautiful shot, right through the skull. I exhaled as he went to retrieve the bolt, and cast about for some sturdy branches so we could improvise a sled as we had with the bear pelt, which didn’t take long to rig up. Apparently the Alexandrian natives were more comfortable with the idea of venison than bear cub meat, so this time there was no shortage of volunteers to sort out the kill once we got it back. I accepted a couple of slices from Olivia and went back to the garage to cook them up with some of my foraging stash. Everyone else could have their barbecue.

As I was leaning against the open door enjoying the evening air I saw a familiar figure pass, crossbow slung over one shoulder and vaguely hunched, hurried in a way I hadn’t really seem him move before. Definitely uncomfortable.

'Missing your own party, Dixon?’

He stopped at the foot of the porch steps and glanced back.

'You brought it in too.’

'Your kill, though.’ I gestured over my shoulder at the fire where a couple of ramps and some chicken mushrooms were roasting alongside the venison. 'Peace offering? Not a spot on Carol’s cooking, but-’

He gave me a long look and then shook his head.

'Nah. You have at. See you tomorrow.’

Weird.

Things were quiet for the next few days but the following week I finally let myself be talked into taking Carl and Enid outside the walls for archery practice one afternoon. Between the three of us we even took down two walkers and a rabbit, although when we crested a small rise and set some sort of wild pig fleeing with a loud squeal I was willing to admit we didn’t have a chance with that one.

'Fucking son of a-’

'Oops,’ Carl said as Daryl emerged from the brush. 'Sorry.’

'I nearly had the damned thing!’ He shot me a look of utter disgust. 'What the hell’s this, girl scout camp?’

'Archery practice,’ I said. 'There wasn’t anything to shoot at by the walls, so-’

'Shouldn’t have come out  _this_  far. Now I got to track that thing down again. Fucking idiots…’ he trudged off, still muttering and cussing under his breath, leaving the three of us to exchange amused glances.

'Wow,’ Enid said after a moment. 'What a charmer.’

'You get used to it,’ I said, and Carl nodded assent.

'He’s a good guy. Just not…like most people.’

'Well, we’ve still got plenty of light – let’s see if we can get a couple more rabbits, shall we?’ I hefted my bow and gestured. 'And let’s go  _quiet_ , just in case.’

After another half hour or so we’d added a rather chunky vole to our haul, but Enid seemed to spot something and started making frantic gestures towards a clump of undergrowth. I couldn’t see anything but motioned for Carl to stop as well because the girl had freakishly good eyes.

 _I think it’s the boar_ , she mouthed.

I shrugged and tapped my bow, then pointed at her.  _Take the shot, then_.

She dropped to one knee, nocked, took careful aim, and fired. There was a dull grunt on the edge of hearing and then something shot back out of the brush and impacted a tree behind us after nearly taking Carl’s head off. I dove groundwards, yanking him down with me by his jacket, and flipped over to see what had impacted above us.

It was a crossbow bolt.  _Oh, crap_.

'Daryl?’

’ _Motherfucking son of a_ -’

I scrambled to my feet, hoping that since he was cussing so fluently he wouldn’t be badly hurt. He was sitting up at least, but I winced at the sight of the arrow sticking out of his left shoulderblade.

'Oh my god!’ Enid was understandably beside herself. ’ _Oh my god_  – I’m  _so_  sorry – I just saw something big moving – I – I thought it was the boar-’

'You thought  _what_?’ he demanded, twisting about.

'Hold  _still_ ,’ I snapped, trying to feel around the entry point. It didn’t feel too embedded, fortunately, but then he was wearing a leather jacket and Enid’s draw wasn’t that heavy. I got my knife out and cut the bulk of the shaft off so it was easier to deal with.

'Take your jacket off, Daryl, I need to see how far in the head went.’

'Trust me, Princess, it’s pretty fucking  _in_.’

'Shit, I’m  _so_  sorry-’

'Enid, not now! Carl, you got the canteen? Thank you.’ I poured a bit of water on to clear out the entry wound and exhaled in relief – good thing I’d been making sure the training points were just hardened wood rather than proper metal heads. 'It isn’t in that far. I’m going to take it out – you want something to bite on?’

'Just do it,’ he growled.

'Fair enough.’ I pulled a clean rag out of my bag – I’d taken to carrying a couple for practical reasons and it would save losing another shirt – yanked the remains of the arrow out and then clapped the cloth on to stem the bleeding. It had gone in about half an inch, which was enough to hurt and bleed like buggery but not to clip bone or do any serious or lasting damage to the shoulder.

Then I heard something groaning and realised the kerfuffle had drawn a couple of passing walkers over to us, but before I could comment two bowstrings sang; Carl and Enid had felled one each, neatly through the skulls.

'Okay then, you two are on perimeter watch.’ I focused on getting Daryl’s injury bound up. He was still cussing as he stood to shrug his shirt and jacket back on, then snatched up his crossbow and rounded on Enid.

'Thought I was the  _boar_? You stupid kid, a pig’s got a total different shape to a man even if he’s on the ground! How’s about use your god-damned  _eyes_  next time-’

'Oh,  _stow it_ ,’ I said wearily. 'Let’s just get back.’

By the time we did he had at least stopped cursing, but shot Enid another black look as she scurried off. Carl wisely decided to make himself scarce as well so I was left trying to get a still very-pissed Daryl to stop by the infirmary so Denise could treat the wound.

'I ain’t going anywhere near it,’ he snapped. 'Ain’t like she’s a real doctor anyway.’ Which in fairness was kind of true – although she’d been to medical school, Denise had ended up as a psychiatrist so her expertise with anything physiological was rusty at best.

'You can’t just leave the thing wrapped up,’ I insisted. 'It needs checking in case the arrowhead splintered, and properly disinfecting or it’ll turn into god knows what-’

'I can clean my own damned arm, Princess.’

'No you can’t, unless your neck twists a lot further than it should.’ I abruptly recalled that one of the items in my house stash – which was kept inside an air vent on the first floor, unlike my bolt stash which was in the hollow tree trunk outside the walls – was a bottle of antiseptic. I had some proper bandages too.

'Come on. If you won’t go to Denise then I’ll clean you up. Enid shot you –  _by accident_  – on my watch so I guess it’s kind of my fault. Or-’ I added when he looked to protest further ’-you can go straight home and Michonne or Carol will drag you down there by one ear so you’ll still end up with Denise  _and_  looking like a total prat to boot.’

'You’re a piece of fucking work, Princess.’

'And you’re an asshole. Come on.’

I got him onto a stool in the kitchen – trying hard to avoid looking at the island countertop – retrieved the gear from around the house and got to work. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to field-dress someone who’d been on the wrong end of an arrow. At least under the bright light I could check if the wooden head had splintered – mercifully it had not – and clean the wound out properly.

Of course my eyes wandered, admiring the complex winged demon tattoo that wound down from Daryl’s uninjured shoulder, which was when I realised that his back was a veritable patchwork of scars. A lot of them were  _deep_ – much deeper than this one would be – and old, too. Most had to have been from before the collapse. I found myself tracing very lightly over one of the worst, a nasty diagonal gash right over his spine, and felt him tense under my hands.

'These are  _nasty_ ,’ I said. 'What the hell happened? Were you in the army, or-’

'Nah.’ He constructed a shrug. 'My pa. Had a temper.’

My jaw dropped.

'Your  _dad_  did this to you?’

'Yeah, and you can quit that sorry tone, too. You asked. I didn’t bring it up.’

'Right.’ I made myself focus on the dressing instead although I knew I was being consciously more careful and gentle than I had been. Fortunately if Daryl noticed that he declined to comment on it.

'There, all done. Just don’t knock it or try to use that shoulder too much.’

He stood and flexed the dressing experimentally with a grunt, then turned around and started to pull his shirt back on.

'Enid’s got a good eye,’ I said. 'I didn’t see you, and neither did Carl. If you’d get that stick out of your ass and actually try passing a little knowledge on…’

'Didn’t have nobody teaching me. Learned the hard way. Get it right or don’t eat.’

'Well then think how much  _better_  she’d learn if she had a teacher.’ I levelled a pointed stare at him until he snorted and looked away.

'Maybe.’

'Maybe you’ll think about it, or maybe you’re saying that to stop me asking?’

'Maybe it ain’t your goddamned problem, Princess. She ain’t your kid. Ain’t my kid.’

'She  _ain’t_  anybody’s kid here,’ I snapped. 'On account of her parents both being dead. If Carl asked you, would you teach him?’

'Rick would-’

'Exactly, because Carl still  _has_  Rick. Enid doesn’t have anyone.’ I folded my arms. 'You know I’m right.’

'I know you’re a pain in my ass, Princess,’ he said, pointing a finger at my face as he had outside after I’d drenched him with the hose.

'I’m still right,’ I said, refusing to take a step back when he squared right up, crowding me back against the counter island. 'Besides, if Rick had any sense he’d have already asked  _you_  to show Carl how to track-’

I didn’t get any further because Daryl’s mouth was on mine again, brief and bruisingly fierce, swallowing my noise of surprise before he dropped his head to lick at the hollow of my throat. How the hell the man could get me from justifiably irritated to nail-bitingly horny in one move was still beyond me, but here we were. The next thing I knew I was on my back on the counter with my jeans around my ankles and legs up around his waist, biting my lip to stifle a frenzied scream as he fucked me halfway into next week.

'This is turning into a habit,’ I said after I could breathe again, tugging my jeans back up as he straightened and backed off to zip up.

'Didn’t hear you complaining,’ he said with a snort.

'I didn’t necessarily mean it was a  _bad_  habit…’ I levered myself up on my elbows as he looped his crossbow over his good shoulder and grabbed his jacket.

'Well, ain’t you  _nice_.’

'Close the door on your way out!’ I shouted as he left, and then collapsed back with a groan, clapping my hands over my eyes. At least the idiocy had a track record now. And he was clean – I’d know by now if it was otherwise – and screw it, we were both consenting adults, but still…


	11. Chapter 11

 

After patrol and the usual monosyllabic exchanges the next day I went to find Tobin to see how he was getting on with his various craft projects. He’d managed to get a loom up and running, although it wasn’t much use without anything to actually weave with, and was making progress with the beginnings of a mouldboard plough, too.

‘Be better if we had a way to work metal,’ he commented when I asked how things were going. 'Be able to reshape some beams for the wall rather than relying just on wood. I did a bit of smithing back in the day – mostly ornamental stuff, you know, gates and whatever – but there’s nothing like a working forge here.’

That got me thinking and I ended up swinging by Deanna’s, of all places, on the way back. She was out somewhere doing god knew what but her son Spencer was about and seemed surprised to see me.

'Sorry,’ I said by way of a greeting, because some parts of being British you can’t get rid of. 'I just wondered if you guys had any state maps? My last one was a writeoff after a walker spewed guts all over it…’

'Sure.’ He rummaged on a bookshelf and produced a state road atlas. 'What you need it for?’

'Just a half-baked idea I’m working on.’

'Need any help?’

'I’ll let you know. Thanks.’

Of course once the idea got closer to being baked I was going to take it straight to Rick, because Spencer Monroe couldn’t find his ass with both hands and a compass, but he didn’t need to know that right now. In fact by the time I’d got back down the street the atlas had told me everything I needed to know, the continued baffling scale of US state territories aside. It would be a hell of a job. But it would be worth it, if we could pull it off. I knocked at the door.

'Rick, I want to do a run.’

It must have been the look on my face because he just stepped back and motioned me inside to the main room.

'What kind of run?’

'A big one. Probably a week on the road at least, there and back.’

'Sounds like a hell of a distance.’

'It is.’ I spread the atlas on the table and traced the route with a finger. 'That’s assuming we can find a clear way through on the roads.’

'Clear way to where?’ Michonne asked, wandering through from the kitchen.

I ended up explaining the idea from the top three times – once to the two of them, again to Daryl and Glenn, and finally to the rest of the group when someone brought Abraham and the others over. Then Daryl went to get Aaron, who knew the territory better, and the fourth iteration was less of an idea and more of a coherent plan with everyone pitching in.

'The ninety-five’s clear until you pass Stafford, then it gets a little messy but probably passable…or we could slip around the back onto route seventeen-’

'We’d need the big truck,’ I said. 'So  _probably_  passable isn’t really an option.’

'Gotcha.’ Aaron produced his own map, much annotated, and indicated the main highway. 'Last time I was out it got tricky up that way but if we pull off outside Falmouth and head east from there…’

'I’ll take the bike,’ Daryl said. 'Scout ahead. Truck and the second car follow behind.’

'All right.’ Rick was nodding, mostly to himself it seemed. 'It’s doable. You sure there’s going to be anything left at the fair, Cass?’

'Pretty sure,’ I said. 'I mean, there’s no guarantees but it was mostly intact when my group left. The chances of someone else coming in and taking the anvil and other stuff should be pretty remote.’

'I think it’s worth a shot,’ Michonne said, which surprised me somewhat.

'So do I.’ Rick glanced around. 'So who’s in?’

The list for the expedition ended up fluctuating somewhat and including – against my protests – Nicholas, Heath, Spencer and Francine of the Alexandria natives. Abraham vouched for Francine which was fine, and Heath seemed to have his head on straight, but Nicholas was a prat and Spencer was both a prat and blissfully unaware of his own incompetence. There were others wanting to come too – hordes of walkers aside, apparently the idea of most of a week away from the walls had its appeal – but Rick insisted that enough of the capable bodies stayed put so the town wasn’t being left essentially defenceless.

I ended up in the cab of the truck with Rick, Abraham and Heath, while Glenn, Michonne and the others rode in the car behind and Daryl scouted ahead on his bike. The trip out was positively mundane on the first day, the miles spinning away as we took turns to drive. If not for the occasional sight of walkers trailing along roadsides as we passed former population centres it could have been any other road trip.

When it got dark we pulled into a clear area, parked up and slept in shifts. I woke up cold just before dawn as an unpleasant smell caught my nose, but it was only Daryl bundling himself into the cab beside me after switching watches with Abraham.

'You stink, Dixon,’ I whispered.

'Then hold your nose and go to fucking sleep, Princess.’ He half turned over, presenting his back to me, and gave every appearance of following his own advice. I waited a moment in the chill, then thought  _fuck it_  and shuffled over against him, putting my cheek against his shoulder.

'The fuck you doing?’ he muttered, glancing back.

'You’re rancid but you’re warm. Shut up.’

To my surprise that got a dry chuckle, but he settled back down without further objections. At least he didn’t snore, which was more than could be said for Heath.

On the third day the territory started to look vaguely familiar, and when I mentioned it Rick called a halt.

'I don’t want to go off down side roads without being clear where we’re going. Daryl, you take Cass and find the fair, work out a route.’

'Saddle up, Princess,’ Daryl said dryly. I declined to reply, accepting the crossbow when he passed it to me and slinging it over my back so it wasn’t on his and poking me in the face. It was bumpy going and the suspension wasn’t great, but when I tapped him on the shoulder he slowed, putting his feet down to walk the bike over a small rise.

'This is the way,’ I said, recognising the pattern of trees. 'Hang a left by that ditch.’

And there it was. Some of the tents were even still up. I slid off the bike, absently handing Daryl his crossbow, and had to take a moment.

There was the maypole, and the remains of the stage where Eric had tripped over his own scabbard and landed on his face, the puppet show where we’d done the Monty Python parrot skit the one day Tina mislaid the actual puppets and all we could find was a stuffed pigeon from the falconry guys…

'You all right?’ Daryl asked. I gave myself a shake.

'Sorry.’

'We ought to check it out, before we get the others.’

'Yeah.’ I took my bow down and restrung it. Right on cue, a groan came from the kitchen tent and a walker stumbled out into the open.

Oh god.

It was Julie Rainier, one of the cooks. She’d left with the first group to try and get back to her family in Wisconsin…they must have had problems, come back, maybe for supplies, had the same idea I had…

Daryl put her down with a bolt through the head. I clapped my hand over my mouth and looked away, not expecting my eyes to well up and  _certainly_  not expecting the sob to escape.  _Pull it together!_

'You knew her?’ he asked.

I managed a nod, gulping back more tears.

'Julie. She was from Wisconsin…her son was doing art history at college and she…she made the most amazing pies…’

Daryl stepped right up alongside me so we were shoulder to shoulder, if still facing opposite directions, and looked down at his boots for a moment.

'That weren’t her. You get that, right?’

'I know.’ I sniffed, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand. 'I know. She died. A while ago, from the looks of it.’

'You ever seen one you knew before?’

'Yes. Just not…’ I shook my head. 'I didn’t expect it is all. Sorry.’

'You all right?’

'Yeah.’ I tried a couple more sniffs, attempting to pull it together, and glanced sideways at him. He was looking at me with a totally unreadable expression on his face, eyes shrouded under the mottled light of the dense woods, which made oddly dappled patterns over his dark hair.

'We should go get the others,’ he said, and headed back towards the bike. I sighed and followed. There wasn’t really much else to do.

Abraham managed to get the truck all the way up the logging road to the edge of the camp proper which would make for relatively easy loading. The forge was intact, as I’d hoped, although it took four of us and a lot of cursing to get the thing into the back, then we set about looting everything else even vaguely usable.

The armoury was still mostly standing and to my lasting astonishment had barely been touched. Either the place was better hidden than I’d thought or those who’d found it had dismissed the usefulness of bladed weapons, shields and chain mail.

'Heavy, but bite-proof,’ I said, passing one of the vests over to Glenn.

'Sheesh.’ He hefted it. 'Not for me, thanks. Maybe Abraham?’

'I was thinking he’d be better in full plate,’ I shot back. 'What about you, Rick?’

'I’ll pass, thanks – but let’s load it up, still worth having.’

I pushed some canvas aside and was delighted to see that the archery section was more or less untouched.

'Hey, Daryl! You ever had Christmas in June?’

'Huh?’

I held the canvas up so he could see.

'Son of a bitch…’ a lopsided grin crept onto his face, and I had to bite my lip to hide doing the same because shit, he had a cute smile and that was just unfair.

'Talk about the motherlode,’ Glenn said, coming in with Michonne and looking around admiringly. 'I can’t believe nobody took these…’

'People ain’t got no appreciation,’ Daryl said, hefting up one of the heavy arbalests and sighting down it with a low whistle of approval. 'Could skewer a damned bear with this thing.’

'Would you two like a moment alone?’ Michonne asked dryly, 'Or can we get these loaded up?’

The final haul was better than I could have hoped and more than justified the expedition. As well as plenty of heavy canvas and the makings for the forge, we ended up with a couple of longbows, a dozen crossbows - including two arbalests and three lighter repeaters – a hefty bundle of general hand weapons plus arrows and bolts, three sets of intact chainmail and even some shields. I was all for stripping the rest of the place bare but in the end we only took two of the camp stoves to avoid overloading the truck.

'We might as well stay here tonight,’ Rick said, when everything useful was finally loaded up. 'Be dark in an hour or so and with the walls still here this is the safest spot for miles.’

Daryl elected to look for some dinner, although we’d brought plenty of canned food with us to avoid the need, and was back just after sunset with a dead copperhead and some sort of long-necked bird he cheerfully identified as a wood stork. Neither took long to roast up and both were, in my opinion, much better eating than cold canned macaroni any day of the week. I even managed to arrange my turn on watch so I could use him as a hot water bottle again, which made the night in the truck cab a lot less chilly.

The first day’s travel back was uneventful, but halfway through the morning on the second we had to stop when the view from an overlook revealed the disturbing sight of a herd of walkers occupying the highway below where we needed to be inside of an hour.

'Haven’t seen one that big in a while,’ Rick said grimly. I was glad he was so calm about it, because I’d  _never_  seen a gathering that huge – there must have been thousands of them, all ambling down the highway in the same direction, driven by god-only-knew-what semblance of instinct they possessed. I started unconsciously trying to count the number of lurching bodies and forced myself to look away, stepping back from the overlook and walking most of the way to the truck again.

'Least they’re going the right way,’ Michonne said. ’ _Away_  from home.’

'If we go back a junction we could reroute-’ Spencer began, having got the road atlas out in the meantime.

'No. We’ll wait.’ Rick shrugged. 'Once the herd passes we know that way is clear. Much better to just sit it out than risk going down another route we haven’t used.’

'But it could take days-’

'It could take days on another route, too, and we could run into god knows what else to boot.’

That was that of course – and nobody could really fault Rick’s logic, however much Spencer would have obviously liked to – so we dug in and got as comfortable as possible. In the end it took three days for the last dregs of the herd to lurch their way out of sight over the horizon, but then sure enough things were back to being dull.

Until the sixth day, when Daryl came shooting back towards the truck and car on his bike at top speed, all but skidding to an abrupt stop next to the cab.

'Big group,’ he said when Abraham stuck his head out. 'Forty, fifty at least. Spread out but coming this way.’

'Shit,’ Rick muttered.

'I’m going back,’ Daryl added, walking the bike around to face the way he’d come. 'Reckon I can draw them off, clear the way, then circle back around and meet you.’

I shoved Heath aside and clicked the cab door open almost on reflex.

'Not by yourself you’re not.’

'What?’

'You’ll probably need to go off road, right? What if the bike hits something and goes down, and you get swamped before you can get it back up? Or some other damned thing shows up and you get cornered? Who else is going to help cover you  _and_  still be a light enough passenger not to screw up your driving?’

'She’s right.’ Rick passed me one of the flare guns. 'Here – should help divert their attention if you need it.’

'I ain’t fucking around, Princess,’ Daryl said as I swung my leg over the back seat. 'This ain’t playing in the woods looking for fairies.’

'I’m sorry,’ I said, 'Did I mistakenly give the impression this was a discussion? I’ll hold tight and lean when you lean – I’ve ridden bitch before and on a  _much_  faster bike than this.’ This was hardly a scenic tour through the outskirts of Milton Keynes but then he didn’t need to know that, so I got my feet up and tapped him on the shoulder. 'Let’s go.’

'I ought to push you off the first damned bridge I see,’ he grumbled, shifting slightly to test the weight difference.

'You’ll have to drop me first.’

'Good luck,’ Rick said. 'We’ll meet you at the turnpike.’

Daryl gave a grunt and gunned the engine, but he did wait until I had my arms solidly around his waist before setting off down the highway. Truth be told it had been a  _long_  time since I’d been on the back of a bike going at any speed, let alone a souped-up custom job tearing down a highway with no speed limits in place, but he was easily a better driver than Charlie Longman had ever been so it was pretty exhilarating too. The first time he jinked to avoid an abandoned car I squealed in surprise but it was torn away by the wind, so I settled for keeping my cheek against his back and concentrating on the movement instead.

After a few minutes the horde of walkers came into sight and Daryl slowed down to turn into the woods, circling around the group so we could lead them off in another direction. It was more than a trifle unnerving, when we got onto the road on the other side, to see the backs of a group that would ordinarily have sent me fleeing up a tree to wait on it passing.

'Got a clear run,’ Daryl said, gesturing ahead. 'Pull them up onto that toll road so they’re heading north, then once they’re moving we kick off, circle around on the other junction, peel back and meet the others.’

'Right. You want me to yell at them or-’ I stopped as he revved up the engine to a roar ’-or you could do that, I guess.’

The walkers began to turn, hideously milky eyes catching whatever passed for sight of us, and in a disturbingly short period of time the entire group was slowly turning towards us. I craned my neck back to see as Daryl walked the bike on a bit, knowing he wouldn’t want to get properly moving again until we had all of them following.

Once the last couple had turned and the entire lot were starting to lurch in our direction I tapped his shoulder and he lifted his feet back to the footrests, changing gears down so we were creeping ahead of the group at a steady walking pace that kept us well in their field of interest but safely out of lunging range.

I checked back over my shoulder periodically and a couple of times had to yell to stop some of them wandering off – a human voice seemed to have the desired effect, thankfully – until we had them firmly up on the northern road, a direction that would take them well away from both Alexandria and the returning expedition.

'We’re clear,’ I said.

'All right. Hang on.’

I barely had time to before he hit the gas, but it was supremely satisfying to leave the walkers in the distance. I couldn’t quite resist giving them the finger over my shoulder, and felt rather than heard Daryl’s snort of amusement as we turned right to start back to the highway. Unfortunately the side road was a little crowded with abandoned vehicles, so he had to slow down a bit to weave us between them.

I don’t think either of us expected a walker to lunch sideways out of an open bus door and trip itself on the step. The stupid thing went sprawling and landed bodily on the side of the bike, which promptly started to tip until Daryl dropped it, because a dropped bike was a lot less dangerous than an out-of-control tipping one. I did what Charlie had always told me to do under the circumstances, which was to roll clear, but there was no time to get my bow ready to fire so I yanked my pistol from its holster and shot the face off the walker, then had to hurriedly turn my attention to the bus as its three fellows decided to join in too. The noise drew in some more from the woods, but while they were ambling their way through the cars on the verge I grabbed my knife to finish off the one I’d just clipped, then got an arrow nocked just in time to take out the final one approaching after Daryl had shot the other four with his crossbow.

Breathing hard, I cast around a full three-sixty to be sure, but we were clear.

'Bloody hell.’ I glanced down, then felt my throat go dry at the sight of the blood – bright, red, human blood - dripping down Daryl’s arm. 'Oh shit –  _no_!’ Throwing my bow aside, I dropped down beside him and clawed at his collar, heart in my mouth, looking for the bite.

'Will you quit  _pawing_  at me?’ he exclaimed. 'I ain’t bit!’

'But-’ I pushed his sleeve up to expose the side of his back…revealing the trickle of blood leaking through the bandage from Enid’s accidental arrow wound. My forehead fell onto his shoulder; I was almost weeping in sheer relief.

'Oh, thank god.’

'Calm down, Princess.’ He got to his feet and righted the bike while I retrieved my bow. 'Let’s get out of this shit.’

We got off the road into the woods so he could check the bike for damage. I lurked, bow drawn, keeping an eye out for walkers, but other than distant birdsong it was incredibly quiet.

'We okay?’ I asked, meaning the bike.

'Yeah, it’s fine.’

'Okay. Hold still and let me patch that shoulder up.’

I redid the dressing as speedily as I could, but just as I was finishing up he suddenly twisted on the spot and pulled me around into a messy kiss, combing my hair rapidly back from my face. Before I could really respond he flipped me so my back was to his chest, shifting his mouth to my neck while one hand snaked down to snap the button of my jeans open. I arched up against him with a hiss of pleasure, and the next thing I knew he had me bent over the side of the bike – it shifted, but the kick stand took the weight – and my jeans around my ankles, then he was pressing up behind me and all considerations about the damned motorcycle fled from my mind.

Afterward, sweating afresh and gasping for breath, I hiked my jeans back up and glanced back at him.

'You’d better not have wrecked that dressing again.’

'Nah, I’m good.’ He gave me a long look and then slid his crossbow into the mount behind the pillion seat. 'C'mon, we’d better get going.’

I shivered a little as the bike rumbled to life under my legs, but pointedly ignored Daryl’s grunt of amusement as we pulled away. The others had actually waited at the turnpike, and looked noticeably relieved when we arrived.

'Trouble?’ Rick asked.

'Nothing big,’ Daryl said as I climbed off to get back into the truck.

'All right then. Let’s go home.’


	12. Chapter 12

The armoury in Alexandria couldn’t actually hold all the weaponry we’d brought back, so while Tobin was busy fussing over getting his new smithy set up we shifted all the non-firearms into the garage attached to Rick’s house instead. I took two of the longbows – one for a spare and one for Enid – along with plenty of arrows, and one of the small buckler shields that would probably prove useful for something if I could figure out what. I noticed Carl had acquired one of the smaller repeaters, which he seemed more comfortable with than a bow, and one of the arbalests had mysteriously gone missing although rumour had it being sighted in Aaron and Eric’s garage in the vicinity of Daryl’s bike.

A few days after we got back I found myself in the unusual situation of waiting for Daryl in order to go out on our usual perimeter patrol. After a quarter of an hour, when I was just starting to worry, the gate opened to admit Enid. She had a half-dozen small rodents of various species slung over her shoulder.

‘…the heck?’

'Got 'em myself,’ she said proudly. 'The last two I even  _found_  myself.’

'Yeah, when you stopped making enough noise that every damned critter in the county knew you were coming,’ Daryl said from behind her.

I blinked.

'Wow. Uh…well, you’d better get those down to Olivia-’

'As  _if_.’ Enid rolled her eyes. 'These are going straight to Carol.’

She set off towards the house without further comment, leaving me to regard Daryl in barely-concealed incredulity.

'Guess you did do more than think about it,’ was the best I could come up with.

He shrugged.

'You were right. Girl’s got good eyes.’

'…all right then.’

I later found out he’d been giving Carl crossbow lessons too, to Ron Anderson’s lasting ire. When Carl and Enid went out hunting together independently – it never quite came to light who on watch let them out of the gate – and came back with a couple of rabbits each, laughing and playfully shoving each other back and forth, I half expected outright fisticuffs to break out when Ron charged out of his house, but he just stood on the lawn and glared daggers at them until they went inside.

The following morning I found an excuse to wander by Jessie’s on the way to the gate. She looked pretty surprised to see me, but that wasn’t unexpected considering we’d barely exchanged a dozen words with each other since I’d arrived in Alexandria.

'Uh…hi, Cass…?’

'You got a minute?’

'Um. Sure.’ She stepped back to invite me inside – with obvious misgivings – but I stayed at the door.

'You need to sort your son’s head out.’

'Excuse me?’

'Ron. He’s jealous of everything Carl does – including spending time around Enid – but all he does about it is lurk, glare and simmer. I don’t pretend to get teenagers at the best of times but from what I’ve heard it seems like he might have inherited his dad’s temper, and the last thing this place needs is another explosive incident between an Anderson and a Grimes.’ That was a low blow, and I wasn’t exactly proud of it, but the little shit was pissing me off with his attitude and the fact she was ignoring the issue – whether wilfully or through ignorance was really immaterial – didn’t do a whole lot for my opinion of her either.

She blinked, clearly stumped for a response.

'I- I thought he was learning to-’

'He was. He stopped showing up. Same as he stopped showing up to blades training with Rosita, and first aid lessons with Denise, and basic firearms with whoever’s on gate duty.’

Her mouth thinned into a narrow line.

'I’ll speak to him.’

'Jessie, wait-’ I put an arm up to block her from closing the door ’-look, this isn’t something you can just mother him into doing, like homework or something. He has to  _want_  to learn to defend himself. He has to  _want_  to be something more than a whiny little kid who relies on everyone else. I don’t know how you can do it…I’m not his mum. I’m just telling you that you  _need_  to, for his sake.’

I could see her frown of puzzlement and set my jaw.

'I don’t know if he just needs a new male role model to get him to buck his ideas up, or what. But if Ron tries anything stupid with Carl, or Enid, he’s going to come off worse. Even if one of them doesn’t take him out first…I promise you  _I will._ And I probably won’t be anywhere near as clean about it as Rick would.’

I left her there, hoping the message had sunk in. Didn’t much enjoy playing the scary psychopath lady card but if it got her to stop making moon eyes at Rick long enough to sort her damned house out then it would be worth it. It was a positive relief to be back out in the woods with Daryl, though. We were back on a wider route again, spiralling outward to clear out more territory between the main walls and the slowly-rising palisade perimeter, so when a walker blundered into our path I pulled my knife and barged past Daryl to take the thing out by hand.

'Take your vitamins today, Princess?’ he asked mildly, regarding the rather brutally caved-in skull with something akin to amusement as I stepped back.

'Just particularly pissed off this morning at all the yummy-mummy-yuppies and their white picket fences farting along in wilful ignorance of the world.’ I shook the gunk off my knife and wiped a hand across my forehead.

'Huh.’

He didn’t comment further, but I did get a visit from Rick that evening – although he at least had the courtesy to knock on the garage door frame before coming in. I watched carefully as he leaned against a shelf with his thumbs hooked into his belt; a pose Carl had once referred to as “sheriff mode.”

'Jessie said you went to see her this morning. To talk about Ron.’

'I did,’ I said, turning the mushrooms I was grilling.

'She said you threatened him.’

'Did she tell you my actual words or just jump straight to the hyperbole?’

He gave me a long look.

'You really think Ron would try something on Carl…or Enid?’

'Or you?’ I stood up and scratched at the back of my head. 'You killed his dad, Rick. He may not be stupid enough to think he can take you out – yet – but he’s clearly getting ideas about Carl, and Enid's…shift of affections is just compounding the problem.’

He folded his arms, and just like that the sheriff was gone and I was talking to Rick Grimes again.

'The man killed Deanna’s husband right in front of the whole damned town.’

'I’m not saying you didn’t do the right thing,’ I said. 'From what I’ve heard the only thing anyone did wrong was not put the bastard down sooner. But Ron’s a teenage boy – a volatile monster at the best of times – and he’s short one male role model. Now I don’t know what’s going on with you and Jessie – and it’s none of my business-’ I hastily added when he made to speak ’-but whatever else you might be now or later, Rick, you’re always going to be the guy who shot his dad, and that means you can’t try to  _be_  his dad. It has to be someone else.’

'I know that.’ He sighed. 'I just feel…responsible.’

'I get it. I do. But if you want to do what’s best for Ron I think you need to step back from that…aspect of it.’

'Right.’ Standing straight again, he rubbed at his jaw thoughtfully and then glanced at me again. 'You  _really_  think he’d try something, though?’

'You used to be in law enforcement – don’t tell me you’ve never heard of incurable nut jobs running in families.’

'But if that  _is_  the case…’ Rick didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

'Just maybe show Carl how to defend himself hand to hand against more than just walkers,’ I said quietly.

'Yeah.’ A slow nod, and then he turned to leave. 'Think I will.’

After that somewhat grim conversation the last thing I expected to see the following afternoon on getting back my post-patrol herb sorting was what looked like every teenager in the town engaged in some kind of marathon jog relay up and down the long main street, with Abraham Ford leading the way and Rosita at the rear, followed by a considerably trailing Eugene for some reason.

’ _I don’t know but I been told…a walker’s head is full of mould._ ’

'Check it out,’ Daryl called from where he was sitting on the porch with the others. 'Pre dinner show.’

I went across to join them as the group went back up the street the other way.

’ _I don’t know but it’s been said…sure you stab him in that head._ ’

'What in the world-’ I began.

'It was Abraham’s idea,’ Rick said, bouncing Judith on his knee. 'Kind of a post-collapse little league. Some general PT and more formal weapons drills. Jessie spoke to him this morning about Ron and…well, he came up with this. He said if there’s one thing guaranteed to make kids get along it’s having a hardass drill sergeant to despise.’

'That man’s a bloody genius,’ I said as the group jogged past again. 'What about Eugene?’

'That was Rosita,’ Maggie supplied. 'She figured he could just do with the exercise. Keep it up Eugene!’ she added at a shout as he toiled past, sweating buckets. I laughed and sat down on the steps when Glenn budged up.

'How come you guys don’t have to do this?’ Carl shouted at us on the next lap.

'Cause we’ve been on our feet all day catching the dinner Carol’s cooking for you tonight!’ Daryl shouted back, waving his hand casually back over his shoulder. Carol laughed and slapped her palm to his in a high five of assent.

I felt a completely unexpected stab of envy at that easy interaction and was shocked at myself.  _Jealous, now_? And of what? They weren't…no, they couldn’t be.  _And why would it matter if they were_?

'Want to join us for dinner?’ Carol asked, knocking me out of it. 'Which by the way is a thinly disguised attempt to fish for some more of those chicken mushrooms if you have any…’

'I’m sure I can accommodate that.’

Over food, Glenn explained the run he’d been planning for the morrow to a logistics depot.

'Not expecting to shift whole trailers but might be a better place to scavenge than the various destinations the stuff would have gone to.’

'Sounds like a plan,’ I said, and on impulse added, 'Need another pair of hands?’

'Uh, sure-’ he glanced at Daryl ’-you guys aren’t patrolling?’

'Go if you want,’ Daryl said with a shrug. 'Ain’t a problem.’

'I could do with a walk,’ Michonne said to him. 'I’ll back you up.’

'Cool.’ I nodded thanks and gave Glenn a shrug. 'Guess I’m all yours.’


	13. Chapter 13

It was a pleasant break from routine if nothing else, and I didn’t mind being squashed into the cab between Tara and Spencer even for the whole day’s drive, since Nicholas was at the other end and stuck with Heath’s snoring on his shoulder when we parked up overnight before venturing out to scout the area.

The depot was a big one and looked like it had been a hub for quite a few supermarkets in the region as well as the usual smaller town shops, so potentially an excellent location for scavenging. Glenn even forgave Spencer’s unwisely loud whoop of triumph when he cracked a trailer to find a shipment that looked like it had been bound for a small town clinic of some sort. The refrigeration had long since died but there were plenty of non-perishables to loot.

‘Cass, can you and Nick check out those food trucks?’ Glenn asked. 'Probably be a no go but just in case there’s anything canned or dried…’

I would have preferred to take Tara but making a noise about it wasn’t going to help anyone, so off we went. Nicholas was typically shifty and nervous, eyes darting about anxiously at every small noise, and he actually raised his gun at a trio of walkers clawing at us on the other side of a chain link fence. I walloped him on the shoulder before he could pull the trigger.

'You’ll just attract more of them, you dummy.’

I used my knife to stab out the three through the fence while he hovered.

'There might be more, right? Shouldn’t we get the others?’

'We’ll go quiet,’ I said. 'The others need to get that stuff loaded.’

For some reason there was quite a bit of thumping and banging around the two trailers we were interested in, but while cautiously opening one revealed quite a few crates of canned goods – including more of that blessed macaroni, which had presumably been some kind of dietary staple in pre-collapse Virginia – it did not result in a swarm of walkers erupting into the open. I took a couple of wandering stragglers down with my bow, figuring that as long as we could hear but not see them we’d be fine.

Then Nicholas opened the depot door.

'Shit! Cass!’

I whirled but the damage was done and a swarm of them were lurching out.

'Look out!’ I shot a couple of the ones at the front to buy him time to scramble back and to his feet. By now the accumulated groans and wheezes of this group were attracting others out of the woods, and in short order the place was going to be overrun.

'Nick, get back to the others and warn them. I’ll work my way around and meet you back at the truck.’

He gave me a single disbelieving look of terror and then took off, although at least it was in the right direction. I hopped up onto a crate and managed to lever myself onto the top of one of the trailers – don’t ask me why but I always think vertically in a crisis. It also gave me a good vantage to shoot down a couple of stragglers who ambled after him, and then I could make enough racket to keep the rest of them clawing around the bottom of the trailer rather than taking an interest in his flight.

Well, now what the hell? If Glenn brought the truck around I could probably leg it, maybe with a bit of supporting fire from the cab, but I also didn’t much fancy staying put and trusting my non-eaten status to a cheap lorry trailer. I managed to jump to the next one – which seemed to confuse the walkers somewhat – but now my only option was a running leap to the roof of the depot offices. Not ideal.

Shit.

I gave myself the full length of the trailer but barely made it, having to hook my arms over the guttering and pull myself up inch by painful inch, skinning my forearms raw in the process and getting my own blood all over myself. Then one of the taller walkers got its hands hooked firmly into my jacket and started to slowly but inexorably drag me in the opposite direction. Panicking, sweat dampening my eyes, I shed the jacket – which took my quiver and satchel with it – but was able to finally haul myself over the edge to collapse flat on the roof, where I lay for a long couple of minutes gasping for breath and waiting for my heart to stop palpitating.

Now to get back to the truck. I hooked my bow over my upper body, still strung, and carefully made my way to the far side of the building for a more organised descent. It took well over twenty minutes to cautiously reroute through the surrounding woods back to where the truck was parked, but I still had my knife and the couple of walkers that blundered into my path were easy pickings. Then I finally rounded the corner and stopped short.

The truck was gone.

 _They left me_.

I stood there gaping at the empty road for much longer than I should have – it was only the dull groan of a walker right behind me that snapped me out of it, barely in time to get my knife into its head.

 _They LEFT me_.

Stop. Think. No quiver, so no arrows. No satchel either…so no rope, no water, nothing to wash or bind wounds. Knife and bow, check. Pistol, full mag, check. Furious sense of betrayal and abandonment…definite check.

First priority – container, and water. Wouldn’t live long without that, walkers or not. I quickly ransacked what was left of the open trailer and found a bottle of some kind of long-expired salve or ointment. That would do, I could rinse it. Now to find a water source. Not hard in the woods of Virginia. Find wood for some arrows – not fletched right now, as I didn’t have the material, but  _something_  I could shoot silently.

It didn’t take me long to find a stream running clear enough to rinse my arms, clean out the bottle and refill it to serve as a canteen. I found a perch on a broad-branched hickory tree with a clear view of the depot entrance, just in case the group came back – Glenn knew me well enough to realise I’d try to get out of harm’s way by climbing rather than running, and might have been planning to circle back when the walkers dispersed a bit.

Two days later I decided to walk it. I’d have to stick to the roads, but that would get me close enough to familiar terrain that I could get to Alexandria by eye. Then I’d collect my stash from the hollow outside and be on my way. The rest of them could go to hell. What good was being part of a community – hell, any group – if they’d just drop you at the first run that went a bit sour?


	14. Chapter 14

_You don’t have to be alone_ , I thought bitterly, remembering Rick’s words the night of the bear burger cookout…had it really been so many months ago? Bullshit. Like a group like that, who’d survived so long together, would ever  _really_  care about an outsider when it hit the fan.

I managed to find a somewhat motheaten rucksack on a corpse by the road, which got me a somewhat grotty thermos flask and some dry rations, and more importantly something to carry stuff in. It was surprisingly easy to get back into the habit of continuously foraging, or dropping a rabbit when the chance arose, and making my own arrows out of desperate necessity rather than educational convenience.

The day I tracked a possum down to its burrow from spoor by a blackberry bush and killed it for dinner, I abruptly remembered that I hadn’t been able to do that last time I’d been alone in the woods; that I’d picked up at least some of Daryl’s skill just by watching him. Then I got angry and punched a tree so hard I hurt my arm, which made me feel like even more of an idiot. I already knew he didn’t give two shits beyond an occasional rough shag and someone to bitch at, and here I was acting all damned romance novel about it.

It took me nine days in all – pretty good going considering how long it had been since I’d been out cross-country on my own, on foot, dodging walkers with limited ammo and supplies. I still hadn’t found any rope though – probably the thing I was missing the most – but there was some in my outside stash so I wouldn’t lack it much longer.

When the clock tower came into sight I slowed and worked my way around, keeping my eyes peeled for Daryl or Michonne and a potentially awkward confrontation, but managed to avoid anyone outside the walls. I even noticed in a detached sort of fashion that the external palisade wall was finally finished, and it looked like work had started on cutting the treeline back at least around the gate, as well as demolishing some of the ruined buildings just outside.

 _Good for them_ , I thought, forcing myself to use the third person.

I paused briefly to get my bearings and then set off for my stash at a cautiously slow walk, passing a walker that had been killed relatively recently. There was a broken bolt next to it – Daryl’s handiwork. For some stupid reason that made tears prick at the back of my eyes again so I marched past it with rather more haste than discretion, then felt rather than saw the shot fly past, barely over my head, and embed in a tree behind me.

I dropped to a crouch and glanced up. It was cardboard fletched. Not one of Daryl’s, then; he always used feathers.

‘Cass?’

Carl came out of the undergrowth, another arrow already nocked but his bow lowered. He gaped at me as if I’d grown a second head, so I took the moment to reach up and pull the arrow out of the tree, then held it out to him.

'Suppose I should be grateful you’re still overcompensating on the draw.’

'We thought you were dead,’ Enid said, emerging behind him with an look of total disbelief on her face.

'But you’re not!’ Carl slung his bow and actually grabbed me by the hand. 'Come on, we got to get you back – everyone is going to go  _nuts_!’

I wasn’t really sure to make of that – it seemed unlike Glenn and the others to try and sugarcoat anything, especially for Carl – but let them lead me back to the gate. I could see how it played out, maybe get the stash of gear from the house too, and then leave after that.

'Guys!’ Carl started shouting as soon as the gate came into view. 'Look! She’s alive! She’s okay!’

Heads poked up – I spotted Abraham, Francine, Maggie – and a bit of a kerfuffle seemed to erupt inside. The gate rolled open and I found myself face to face with Rick, who actually broke out into a smile that gave every appearance of being genuine. He all but bodily hauled me inside, gripping my shoulders tightly as Carl and Enid closed up behind.

'We thought-’

’ _Oh my god_!’ Tara’s cry cut him off and then she barrelled straight past and threw her arms around me – not the reaction I’d expected – and as she stepped back Abraham enveloped me in a bear hug that made my ribs creak, and then I was being passed from one person to another through what seemed to be most of the town.

'I don’t get-’ Enid began as Sacha finished squeezing the breath out of me, although she didn’t get any further as others got elbowed aside to reveal Daryl. For a heartbeat he just stared at me like he’d seen a ghost.

Then he barged straight through the entire crowed like a freight train, grabbed my face in his hands and pulled me into a deep, fierce kiss. Totally flummoxed, I actually staggered slightly when he released me, but before I could even begin to process what the hell had just happened he whirled and lunged, and had Nicholas pinned up against the inside of the wall by his throat.

’ _You fucker_ -’

'Daryl!’ Rick managed – barely – to pull him off, and inserted himself between the two as Nicholas half collapsed, coughing and massaging his neck. Daryl paced back a few steps, but then surged forward again and would have taken Rick with him if Abraham hadn’t dived in to yank him back.

'Leave him, man! He ain’t worth it!’

'He lied – he lied to all our  _fucking_ faces!’

'What the  _hell_?’ I demanded, wits not yet recovered enough to voice much more of an enquiry.

'Nick told us you were dead,’ Tara said, swallowing hard. I stared at her and then looked at Glenn. He looked angrier than I’d ever seen him, jaw locked with tension, and nodded accord.

'He told us he saw you get caught by walkers, and go down. By the time the herd at the depot cleared enough, and all we found was your jacket-’

'It was covered in blood,’ Tara added, almost apologetically. I held up my forearms so they could see the scabs from wrist to elbow, and she put a hand over her mouth.

'I got onto a trailer. I told him to go, that I’d work my way around and meet you…’ I stopped, realising that everyone was looking at me, including Daryl, who had stopped trying to get past Rick and Abraham although he still seemed several notches beyond furious; his fists were clenched and knuckles white. Nicholas had very slowly got back to his feet but seemed torn between looking at me and keeping a wary eye on those near him.

Suddenly I felt very tired.

I crossed the gap to where Nicholas was standing and punched him as hard as I could right in the face. He went down, though not out, and blood spurted from his nose.

'I need a shower,’ I said, and walked off, clutching at my hand where the punch had split my knuckles open, and glad nobody followed me.

After well over a week back in the woods the feel of hot water was an unashamed extravagance but I stood under the spray until it ran off me clear, ignoring the sting on the various nicks and scrapes. Then I dredged the rest of the muck out of my hair and sat down on the floor of the shower while it continued to pour over me, trying dimly to process what the heck had happened at the gate.

Nicholas had lied. For whatever reason – it didn’t really matter at this point – he’d just run back to the others and told them I was already dead. So they hadn’t known I was going to double back to them. They’d waited for the herd to move, found my jacket and probably my quiver too, which supported his story…so they’d come home. What else were they going to do?

 _They didn’t abandon me_.

I started weeping, wrapping my arms around the tops of my knees and burying my face in them. It felt oddly cathartic, and by the time I was cried out I felt better, if even more exhausted. It was a real effort to get up, turn off the tap and get dried and dressed, but the clean clothes were also extremely welcome.

I trailed downstairs, fully intending to go straight to the garage and the welcome embrace of my sleeping bag – assuming I didn’t collapse onto the couch en route – but pulled up short by the sight of Daryl sitting on a stool, hunched over the kitchen island. He turned as I came off the stairs, revealing a lightly steaming plate on the counter.

'Thought you’d be hungry.’

'One of Carol’s emergency casseroles?’ I asked, but my stomach betrayed me by growling. The hell with it. I  _was_  hungry, especially for something other than nuts, berries, roots and cold possum meat.

'Yeah.’ He vacated the stool to lean against the other wall, watching me with a strange level of intensity as I devoured the food in quick bites. Mopping the last of the sauce up with my fingers, I finally glanced up at him. As usual he was near impossible to read with that same stoic expression. That kiss…it didn’t seem real. It would have been pretty unreal from anyone, but from  _Daryl_ …

'So you going to tell me what the hell that was at the gate?’ I asked, too tired to be tactful. He dropped his eyes.

'That lying shithead told everyone you were-’

'That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ I wasn’t in the mood to fuck around. 'Is that just how we’re saying hello now, or-’

'It don’t matter.’

'It  _does_  matter!’ I slammed my hand on the countertop. 'What the  _fuck_ , Daryl? I come back from presumed dead and you – you do  _that_?’

'I just – I thought –’ he stopped and looked away again, folding his arms defensively.

'What?’ I snapped.

'I thought I lost you,’ he said brokenly, still not meeting my gaze.

I blinked at him, then had to look away in turn and found myself staring at my own hand on the countertop.  _What the hell_? What could I possibly say to…what was he  _talking_  about?

'I know!’ he said, suddenly animated and hostile. 'I told you, it don’t mean nothing.  _Nothing_. I ain’t stupid. I know what this is.’ A snort. 'And what it ain’t.’

My mouth wouldn’t form words. Not that I had any.

'Just some…some game,’ he added, half to himself, and I could practically taste the bitterness in his tone. 'Just fucking around, 'till something better comes up. I get it. Don’t change nothing.’

He turned on his heel and was gone before I could summon anything like a coherent response, slamming the front door behind him. The house seemed even emptier than usual in the sudden quiet so I sat for a long moment, mind churning, trying to process and failing. Too tired. Exhausted. Not thinking anything like straight. Sleep. Needed to sleep. Reset. Try and sort out in the morning.

It took me a couple of attempts to stand up properly, then I hastened to my sleeping bag and all but collapsed into it, pulling the extra blanket straight over my head to block out the world and passing out almost immediately.


	15. Chapter 15

I rose a lot later than usual the following morning, had another shower and something to eat and then washed up the dish to return to Carol. Hopefully Daryl would be out on patrol with Michonne or someone and I could put off trying to deal with…that…until I’d straightened out the rest in my head.

In fact I all but ran into Glenn as I crossed the street; he’d evidently been coming to find me.

‘Hey. How’re you doing?’

'Almost human again.’

'You need to see Denise?’

'No – bumps and scrapes, nothing exciting.’

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

'I just…I wanted to tell you that if we’d known – if Nick hadn’t – and then we found your jacket – I mean –’

'It’s fine,’ I said, and was oddly surprised to realise that was the truth. How exactly pissed or whatever I was at Nicholas was still a pending internal decision, but after the reception at the gate and a night’s sleep I found that any and all ire at Glenn, Tara and the others had evaporated.

'No,’ Glenn said, rather fiercely. 'It’s  _not_  fine. God. I sent you off with Nick and – and  _this_  – I mean if you hadn’t – he might as well have killed you himself! We  _don’t_  just abandon people like that. I shouldn’t have believed him-’

'You had no reason to expect him to lie,’ I pointed out. 'Hell,  _I_  had no reason to expect…I mean, I have no idea why he did it.’

'I guess.’ Glenn huffed slightly. 'Just knowing you went off with him and…and didn’t come back, I couldn’t help thinking if I’d gone with you, or Tara, or I sent you with  _anyone_  else, and-’

I was genuinely touched by that. It hadn’t really occurred to me that as nominal leader on the run he would blame himself, but it had clearly been eating him alive. So to speak.

'It’s not your fault, Glenn. You shouldn’t blame yourself for-’ then I remembered something I’d heard Rick say ’-I mean, it’s not on you. What happened. Okay? It’s not on you.’

Those seemed to be the magic words because he relaxed slightly and actually gave me a resigned sort of smile.

'Okay. But for what it’s worth, I’m still sorry. And…I’m glad you’re okay.’

'Me too.’ I accepted the brief hug and then went on over the road as he headed for the gate. If he’d been beating himself up so much then no wonder Tara had gone to pieces yesterday when she saw me. So much for thinking I’d been abandoned…which was undeniably a comforting thought.

Carol broke into a sunny smile as she opened the door with Judith on her hip.

'How are you feeling?’

'A hell of a lot better than yesterday. Thank you, by the way-’ I held up the plate ’-figured the least I could do was return it clean.’

'You’re welcome. Come in, I was just making some tea. Everyone else is out.’

I was grateful for that consideration, and also more than happy to sit Judith on my lap at the table while Carol bustled about the kitchen setting things to bake and stew; officially her job in Alexandria was to cater for the lesser able and older people, so she was almost constantly cooking.

'I can’t believe what Nicholas did,’ she said as she brought two cups over. 'What cause could he  _possibly_  have for lying about seeing you killed?’

'I don’t know.’ I stroked Judith’s hair absently. 'I really don’t.’

'Well I’m just glad you’re back. Think you’ll be okay?’

'Yeah.’ I shrugged. 'I ran into Glenn outside. Never occurred to me that he’d be driving himself nuts with guilt over thinking I was walker food…’

'Oh, god yes. Tara too. Not that they were the only ones who were upset,’ she added.

I chewed at my bottom lip absently and took a sip of tea.

'Edith didn’t say a word the whole time you were gone,’ Carol went on. 'Even to Carl. And Daryl…’ she trailed off and caught my eye. 'I haven’t seen Daryl that torn up since …well, since his brother died. Even when Beth-’ she stopped and hurriedly changed tack, but I knew that the death of Maggie’s younger sister was a particularly sore spot with most of the group ’-he wanted to go back to that depot and burn it to the ground, take down every walker there on principle. Took Abraham, Michonne  _and_  Rick to hold him back.’

I felt my throat close up.  _I thought I lost you_.

'You know,’ I heard myself say, 'I actually kind of thought you and he were – uh-’

'Daryl and me?’ She actually laughed. 'God, no!’ Then, abruptly sobering, she shook her head and gazed wistfully at her tea. 'Don’t get me wrong. I love Daryl…there’s no other word for it. But it isn’t like that. Besides, it isn’t exactly a big secret that you two have been…’

'Fornicating?’ I said dryly, which got another laugh.

'Your word, not mine!’

'It’s stupid,’ I said, absently ruffling Judith’s hair again. 'I just never thought he would…that he  _could_ …but after yesterday at the gate…’

'Well, I appreciate Daryl isn’t the sort of guy you’d want to take home to meet the folks, even if that were a practical possibility.’ Carol smiled again, almost sadly. 'But he has his own…code, I guess you could call it. And he’s as loyal as they come. If he cares about someone, he’ll walk through fire to see that through.’

'Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,’ I said, a cautious probe. She sighed, cupped her hands around her mug and looked at it for a long moment.

'Back in Atlanta – well, just outside Atlanta, but anyway – I lost my daughter. We were hiding from walkers and she panicked, ran off into the woods…when we finally found her she was…well…’

Holy shit. I couldn’t possibly say anything to that but I reached across the table and laid one hand over hers. She turned her palm up and gave my fingers a squeeze.

'The point is that Daryl got himself shot, almost killed, trying to find her. And she was nothing to him. Just some scared little girl at the end of the world. But he did it anyway.’ Carol stopped for a moment and stared out of the front window, as though the ghost of her daughter was lurking nearby, but then seemed to put it aside and relaxed her shoulders, sitting back.

Compartmentalising. Like everyone who survived this long had to learn to do.

'You know,’ she went on in a warmer tone, 'When Judith was born, and Lori, Rick’s wife, died…there wasn’t anything, you know, any baby formula, to feed her. I remember Glenn telling me Daryl just grabbed his crossbow and stormed out to the gate, yelling at everyone.  _Come on, we’re going to lose a life_. And he and Maggie came back with what Judith needed, plus a dolly…and a dead possum for dinner.’

I had to laugh at that. Baby formula, a dolly and a dead possum. Good god, the world we lived in.

'Did anyone ever tell you Daryl actually fed Judith her first bottle?’ Carol added with a grin. 'I’m told he practically wrestled her off Carl to do it, too.’

'That…I can’t imagine.’

'Well who do you think gave her that dumb nickname?’

'Little ass kicker? Seriously?’

'Yup.’

'I…assumed it was Carl.’

'Nope. Carl picked out Judith as her name. But  _l'il ass kicker_ -’ in a deliberately exaggerated drawl ’-was all Daryl.’

To our mutual amusement Judith actually reacted to the phrase in that tone, letting go of my shirt and peering around as though expecting someone to have come in.

'Oh my god,’ I said. 'It’s like she’s waiting for the smell to arrive. Although to her I guess that smell means food…’

Carol laughed as she got up to check on something on the stove.

'Well, I’d never thought of it  _that_  way…’

Apparently deciding that Daryl wasn’t going to show up, Judith started fussing for the raggedy teddy on her play mat, so I plopped her down and dusted my hands on my jeans in what I hoped was a businesslike manner.

'You need a hand with anything? I’ve apparently got a reprieve from patrolling outside today but it feels like I still ought to do something useful.’

'You sure? Nobody would fault you for taking a day.’

'I’m sure. Chopping, washing, carrying, whatever you need. I’m all yours.’

So I ended up spending the day with Carol and Judith; cooking, baking, delivering food to people, even nappy duty. It was pleasingly unlike work, not that I envied her the daily grind of it, but as the clock on the wall ticked on I found myself craving being out in the woods again. Madness, given recent events, but I’d clearly quite thoroughly lost whatever nascent hints of domesticity I’d ever had. Enid swung by, hugged me around the middle when Carol nipped back into the kitchen and then sort of hurried off again, but then knowing how accustomed the girl had become to having people ripped away from her I couldn’t really blame her for the slightly awkward demonstration and was touched to know she’d missed me.

It was late afternoon when the house came alive again with people. Maggie and Glenn were first back from the gate, then Sacha trailed in, and finally I heard Rick’s voice in the hall.

'If you run away now I’ll skin you,’ Carol said to me in an undertone as Daryl came in. He spared me a brief glance in clear surprise and then made an unexpected beeline for Judith’s mat, scooping her up and tickling her on the nose with one grubby finger. She burbled happily, little hands finding the string of dead squirrels slung over his shoulder and grasping at the hanging tails, at which point Carol clucked her tongue and intervened.

'Will you  _stop_  letting her grab at animal corpses?’

'Ain’t doing her no harm. She just knows good eating when she sees it. Huh, l'il asskicker?’

'And now I need to wash her hands.  _Hygiene_ , remember?’

'I didn’t have no  _hygiene_  when I was a kid…’

'…do it this evening before dark-’ Rick was saying to Michonne as they came in together from the hall. He stopped abruptly. 'Hey, Cass. How’re you doing?’

'Hi Rick,’ I said. 'Better than I was. A night of not sleeping in a tree does wonders.’

'I’ll bet.’ He took Judith from Carol as Carl trailed in. 'Been speaking to Deanna, trying to figure out what to do about the whole Nicholas situation.’

'Know what I’d do,’ Daryl said darkly. He was avoiding looking at me.

'Not sure that’s an option, much as I’d be for it.’ Rick sighed. 'We still can’t figure  _why_  he did it. He just says he got scared, got stupid.’

'Yeah, and what about next time he gets scared and stupid and someone  _don’t_  make it back on their own?’ Daryl asked in a scathing tone.

'He’s not going on any more runs, for a start. As to the rest…I don’t know yet.’ Rick glanced at me. 'What do you think?’

'Other than tying him to the top of a tree outside so he knows what it feels like to spend a few nights in one?’ That got a snort from both of them. 'I don’t know. I don’t even know how I feel about it except pissed off. Not even so much the leaving or the lying, but making me think-’ then I bit my lip. Better not to get into that.

'Yeah. About that.’ Rick handed Judith to Carl and then looked over at Michonne.

'We’ll watch her,’ she said. 'Better done now than later.’

'Right.’ Rick gestured for me to follow him into the hallway. 'Can we borrow you?’

'Sure.’

I was a bit baffled, however, when Carol and Daryl came out too, and then the four of us were headed down the street towards the gate.

'Shooting practice?’ Heath was on watch and rolled it open for us, then grinned at Carol. 'Three bodyguards, huh?’

'I know,’ she said, chuckling. 'Quite the escort!’

'You tasted this woman’s cooking?’ Rick added with a grin. 'Can’t be too careful.’

I felt more than a bit naked outside the walls without my bow, although I still had my knife on my belt, Rick had his revolver and Daryl’s crossbow was on his back as usual. We seemed to be heading a way into the woods, a good ten minute hike at a decent pace, and soon arrived at one of the older ruined cottages that had once sat beyond the suburban outskirts of the town, well out of the way of the road and any of the main walking trails.

Now deeply bewildered, I found myself facing the three of them in the ruined remains of what had once probably been a nice little flower garden.

'Um,’ I said. 'Not to be rude, but…what the hell?’

'This is the first fallback point,’ Rick said without preamble. 'If something happens – the town gets overrun, people get separated – this is where we meet up.’

'There are a couple of others too,’ Carol added. 'Further out. Daryl can show you later. But this is the main one, so always check here first if you can.’ She crouched next to some wrecked flower pots and planters, reaching inside one particularly dirty one to reveal the pistol concealed inside. 'There’s some guns, and ammo. For emergencies. It’d probably be worth getting one or two bows out here too, and some arrows, but you’ll need to figure out a sensible way to hide them.’

My jaw dropped as she straightened.

'You – Enid was right about you.  _Den mother_  my ass!’

Rick grinned and even Daryl chuckled at that, but Carol just smiled.

'That girl’s eyes  _are_ good. Sometimes it just pays to be…invisible.’

'Well, you had me fooled.’ I ran a hand through my hair, looking from one to the other. 'Why are you showing me this?’

'Because if something happens, and we need to move on, we wanted you to know you’d be welcome to come with us,’ Rick said. 'If you wanted to, that is.’

I realised this must have been some kind of followup from my conversation with Glenn this morning. And one hell of one, at that – it was an enormous gesture of faith on their part.

'I-’ I groped for words ’-I don’t really know what to say. I mean…I know what this means to you, and it means a  _lot_  to me that you’d trust me but-’

'You’re strong,’ Rick said. 'You’re a survivor. Like us. You know how the world works now, but you’re still fighting against the worst parts of it.’

'Like us,’ Carol added.

'I’d trust you to have my back,’ Rick went on. 'I’d trust you to have my  _family’s_  back.’ By which I knew he didn’t just mean Carl and Judith. 'And that means you trust us to do the same. We’ve lost folks – no way round that – but we don’t just abandon people.’

I folded my arms and tipped my head back briefly to try and stop the wetness gathering in my eyes.

'I thought…at the depot, I thought…I mean, I wasn’t even planning to come back. I just had a stash in a tree outside the walls I needed to get to. If I hadn’t run into Carl and…’

'But you did,’ Carol said gently. 'And we’re all  _glad_  you did. And you know now. And that little-’ she stopped and glanced at Rick ’-well. We’ll find a way to deal with him.’

'Yeah, we will. Just got to…’ Rick shrugged '…do it the right way.’

'Okay.’ A thought occurred to me. 'I’d bring Enid. You know that, right?’

'Of course we know that.’ Carol smiled. 'That’s one of the reasons you’re standing here.’

'Okay.’ I swallowed. There didn’t seem to be much else to say. 'So do we do a secret handshake, or…?’

'If you can think of one.’ Rick flashed a smile. 'Or we go back and eat instead.’

'That sounds much better.’

'All right then.’

I fell behind them as they started off with Rick in the lead, when another and much uglier thought occurred to me.

'Your group…you’re easily stronger than the rest of this town put together. Not that I’m advocating banditry by any means, but is there a reason you didn’t just…I don’t know…take the place?’

All three stopped walking and exchanged glances, but it was Daryl who finally spoke.

'That’s not what we do.’


	16. Chapter 16

The rest of the walk back was comfortably silent. As we got in sight of the town Carol edged back and looped her arm through mine with a sly smile.

‘Time to disappear.’ Then, to my lasting astonishment, she was Den Mother Carol again – everything from the expression on her face to the way she moved and carried herself. It was downright uncanny and more than a bit intimidating. I found myself rather glad I was on her good side.

Back on the street, however, I extricated myself with rather more haste than grace.

'I’m going to head back in. Sorry, I just…I think I just need a bit more processing time.’

Rick just nodded, Daryl made no response and Carol looked understanding.

'How long were you out by yourself, before you first got here?’

'I’m not sure.’ I grimaced. 'So…long enough that I’m not sure.’

She nodded.

'Take as long as you need. Just…not  _too_  long, okay?’

'Sure. I’ll see you for patrol tomorrow,’ I added to Daryl. He squinted.

'You don’t need to already.’

'Yeah, I do. Goodnight.’ I lifted my hand in a painfully British half-wave and beat a hasty retreat to the garage. The quiet was helpful, especially once I’d something to eat. I made a mental note to look for more mushrooms tomorrow, too – I was nearly out.

I slept better and woke up feeling almost back to normal, so sorted myself out and got up to the gate where Daryl was already lurking, checking over his crossbow.

'All set?’ I asked. He just grunted and unlatched the gate.

Fair enough.

I tried hard to ignore how comfortable and oddly peaceful the woods seemed when out with Daryl, even when the occasional walker showed up and had to be quickly stabbed or shot. It still baffled me how lightly but quickly he could move, despite tricky terrain features like leaf drifts or puddles being regularly in the way. Especially when stalking something, the care with which he placed his feet seemed to be almost dancelike, as if he were following previously placed footsteps only he could see. I could practically tell now when he’d picked up a trail just by the shift of his shoulders or the way he scanned the view.

I’d never have a hope in heck of tracking the way he did it, with more accumulated instinct than learned habit, but I realised I enjoyed watching him doing it anyway. He might not be book smart – and even then I suspected the only real lack was in education, not capability – but he was definitely not stupid, either.

It occurred to me that despite the by now huge stack of hours I’d spent in his company, I actually knew precious little about him except what others had told me. Didn’t seem right, somehow.

It then also occurred to me that I  _wanted_  to know more. And also that I wanted him to kiss me again like he had at the gate. Not because he was angry or after a quick screw or so it would shut me up. Because he  _wanted_  to. Because he wanted  _me_.

'Daryl,’ I said outside my house when he made to peel off across the street.

'What?’ he asked gruffly.

'Can I – uh – can I borrow you for a sec?’

'Why?’

I rolled my eyes.

'Because I want to talk to you and I don’t want to do it in the middle of the street, okay?’ Then to forestall further protest or argument, I grabbed the front of his shirt and shoved him inside, relieved when he didn’t resist. He did circle back around me so he was nearer the door though, and constructed a supremely grumpy shrug.

'Well?’

’ _Well_ , I-’ then I stopped. What  _did_ I want to say? It felt like too much, and not enough. I wanted to tell him that it didn’t feel like just fucking around any more. That it wasn’t a game. That, actually, on my own in the woods, just the thought of him and the lack of him had upset me so much that I’d hurt my hand punching a tree because of it. That the way he’d looked at me by the gate had made my heart pound, that kiss had almost made it stop, and I couldn’t get what he’d said to me out of my head. That I just wanted to run my fingers through his hair, grubby and dishevelled as it was, and curl up against him with his arms around me.

'That ain’t talking, Princess,’ he said with measured scorn. 'That’s staring.’

'I just want to-’ I unstrapped my quiver and laid it and my bow down on the kitchen counter ’-I want to…try something on for size.’

The scorn vanished, replaced by confusion.

'Huh?’

I moved in, tilted my head up so I could reach – it didn’t take much; he was a good height for me – laid one hand lightly on his chest and kissed him. It was slow and sweet, not frantic as at the gate, and after a moment of surprise he leaned into it, laying one callused palm against my face. He tasted of the woods and the smell after rain, and a little like old whisky. The scruff of his beard tickled my cheeks, but his mouth was surprisingly soft on mine.

When we broke off I backed away a bit on a kind of reflex, fingers playing over my lips.

'Did it fit?’ Daryl asked quietly.

'Hmm?’ I looked up at him with a slight frown of puzzlement.

'You said you were trying something on for size. So-’ he dropped his gaze, almost shyly ’-did it fit?’

'Oh.’ I felt myself smile and stepped up to him again, lifting one hand to idly trail down the front of his shirt. 'I think it did. Yeah…’ getting closer still, so he had to tilt his chin down to look at me '…it really did.’ I flicked my eyes up to his and caught the brief beginnings of a genuine smile before he kissed me again, pulling me properly into his arms.

Damn, the man was good at this when he put his mind to it. I slid my arms up around his neck and just enjoyed it, pressing my body up against his, shoulder to toes, and smiling against his mouth when the action provoked a muffled sort of groan. His interest in more than kissing was already very evident against my upper thigh but I was pleased to see he didn’t seem to be in any hurry either, running his hands up and down my sides before slipping them around my waist and down to the curve of my ass.

I tilted my head back as he trailed his mouth down to the hollow of my throat, sucking hard enough to leave a mark before abruptly straightening and kissing me again with more urgency. I slid my hands back down onto his chest and then deliberately gave him a soft push off as I stepped back and away, retreating a few steps towards the stairs. Daryl stood where I’d left him, breathing heavily but with a sudden caution to his expression.

'You coming?’ I asked. 'Not that the counter isn’t fun for a quickie, but there’s a bed upstairs with an actual mattress on it that’s a  _lot_  more comfortable since-’ starting to unbutton my shirt so there was a bit of cleavage in the mix ’-I was kind of hoping we could take our time…’

The caution on his face vanished, replaced with an almost predatory edge as his eyes darkened. In two swift strides he had his crossbow off his back onto the sofa and had crossed the distance to the bottom of the stairs. I just headed on up, shedding extraneous bits of clothing like shoes, socks and shirt on the way, grinning when two dull thuds behind me heralded Daryl’s boots hitting the floor.

As it happened the big bed in the main room still had the sheets on it – the duvet and pillows had gone downstairs to live with my sleeping bag – but I did quickly yank the curtains across the windows out of some lingering sense of propriety. Then Daryl pulled me around and actually lifted me off my feet, pinning me to the wall as he gave me another searing kiss. I scrabbled at the front of his clothes but only got the first couple of buttons open before he spun us both and all but threw me onto the bed, remaining standing so he could yank his shirt off over his head.

I sat up and stripped as fast as I think I’d ever shed clothes in front of another person, barely stifling a slightly self-conscious giggle as I fumbled my bra clasp with overhasty fingers. After a couple of attempts I finally got the damned thing off, but my jeans were only part way down my thighs when Daryl grabbed them and pulled them the rest of the way down off my feet with a certain obvious impatience. I bit my bottom lip to avoid a grin turning into a laugh at that, but then he pushed me onto my back so he could join me on the bed and laughing was the furthest thing from my mind.

He was almost pure muscle and sinew, lean but powerful, and I unashamedly clasped my hands around his upper arms in admiration when he levered his body up over mine. His mouth went to the crook of my neck with a single deep breath, then trailed steadily southwards onto my chest. I couldn’t censor a gasp when he caught one nipple in his lips with a light pull, but a smile crept onto my face again at his low-voiced curse when I slid a hand down to his stomach and then lower to trail my fingers along the length of him.

'Damn, woman,’ he said into my neck, 'You keep doing that and I ain’t going to be taking no time over anything.’

I chuckled but cut myself off with another gasp as one of his hands arrived at the apex of my thighs, callused fingers probing and exploring. By the time he eased one inside it was all I could do not to come apart right then, pressing up against him with a whimper of entreaty. That seemed to do it – as he removed his hand and drove forward I lifted my legs up to wrap around his back, pulling him in deeper while tangling my hands through his hair. He dropped his head onto my shoulder and levered himself up on his forearms, breath heavy on my neck as he started to move.

The friction, the feel of his body pressed fully up against mine, was beyond delicious. I hooked my legs up around his waist and let my fingers drag slowly along his arms, feeling every scar and furrow and flex of his muscles as he shifted to brace himself for better leverage. The new angle made me gasp and see stars, and when I threw my arms around him to pull him even closer he gave a grunt of approval, burying his face in my hair.

I started arching up to meet him at each thrust, clawing at his back as the knot in my stomach wound up to unbearable tightness, and actually heard myself cry out as it burst. It was all I could do to hang onto him, writhing and panting as his hips snapped down once, twice and then with a low, guttural moan he came too, his entire body spasming helplessly against and inside mine.

After a moment of mutually laboured breathing Daryl hefted himself off the top of me and flipped onto his back so we were side by side on the bed. I rolled over onto my stomach and stretched luxuriously, unable to help the little satisfied noise that snuck out. For a moment he just stared up at the ceiling, then his eyes closed and he went so still I actually thought he’d fallen asleep. I pillowed my head on my arms and shifted so I was facing him, taking the chance to study him properly up close.

His features were quite angular, as I’d noticed the night I’d arrived in Alexandria, and the narrow cut of his rough-kempt beard only accentuated the thinness of his face. He’d obviously had his nose broken in the past – probably more than once – and his skin had the kind of tanned, weathered look of someone who’d spent most of their life outdoors even before the collapse. Innumerable scars both past and present betrayed themselves in paler lines across his cheeks, the slight kink of his lower lip and the uneven breaks in his eyebrows.

Not exactly handsome in any conventional sense, I decided, but still an appealing face in its own way, well-travelled and interesting to look at. It occurred to me that I had no idea how old he actually was, and given his general demeanour and battered appearance it was pretty impossible to tell. Not that it really mattered.

He suddenly turned his head to face me and opened his eyes – they were a deep, intense blue, which I hadn’t noticed before. His gaze met mine briefly and then slid downwards along my body, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. I smiled, aware it was a tad coy, but then I was far from beyond feeling flattered by the obvious attention – not to mention the implied approval.

'I thought you’d fallen asleep.’

'Nah.’ He shifted, stretching in turn until his joints popped, and folded his arms up under his head, then glanced sideways at me when I reached out to brush a lock of sweat-dampened hair away from his eyes. 'What?’

'I’m just…’ I trailed my hand down onto his chest and onto his stomach, spreading my palm flat to appreciate the hard muscle there ’…just glad we had this talk.’

That got a snort of amusement.

'Funny way of talking. Although-’ his eyes unashamedly raked my body again ’-I ain’t complaining.’

'Neither am I.’ I started to lean towards him but stopped when he fidgeted awkwardly. 'What’s wrong?’

'This bed’s too damned soft.’ He sat up and then got up, stooping to retrieve his trousers and put them back on.

'There’s a reason I sleep in the garage.’ I didn’t move, trying to avoid dwelling on the patchwork of scars while admiring the play of the muscles on his back. He had a  _nice_  ass, too. I always appreciated that on a guy.

'See something you like?’ he asked, glancing back with evident amusement at my scrutiny. I grinned and shifted onto my back again, propping myself up on my elbows to make a show of looking him thoroughly up and down. He paused after fastening his belt, and I had to laugh as he swept his gaze lingeringly over me and actually licked his bottom lip.

'See something  _you_  like?’

'Like I said, ain’t complaining.’ He smirked again, more smugly this time, then bent to both pick up his shirt and throw my jeans at me. 'Put some clothes on, woman, or we ain’t going to get out of this room any time soon.’

'Is there any particular reason we need to?’ I asked, but did start getting dressed.

'You ain’t hungry? After  _that_?’

That made me chuckle, but he had a point so I followed him back downstairs, collecting shoes and other hastily-shed items en route. Once he’d laced his boots back up and retrieved his crossbow, I realised he meant to head back across the street and hastily caught his elbow as he made for the door.

'Daryl-’

'Yeah?’

'What you – uh – what you said to me the night I got back…’ I swallowed hard '…I just wanted you know, this  _isn’t_  a game. To me. I’m not – not just fucking around. Okay?’

He gave me a long, unreadable look and then nodded.

'Good. 'Cause I ain’t either.’ Then he jerked his head. 'You coming to eat or not?’

'Oh. Uh, sure.’ I hadn’t really expected that, and it felt a tad weird to arrive right behind him, but if anyone felt the urge to comment – especially since it was a good hour or so after the usual quitting time for patrol – then they were keeping it under wraps.

As usual the group ate sitting around the main room, which I knew was still being used as an all-purpose living and sleeping area by Sacha and Daryl as well. At least Sacha was using the couch – as far as I could tell Daryl just slept wherever he happened to come to a stop.

Once everyone was done eating I was rather bemused to see a Scrabble set taken out of a cupboard, and it wasn’t long before Carl, Rick, Maggie, Glenn and Michonne were deep into a game. It wasn’t much longer before Michonne was obviously winning, either, although Carol kept having to interject to stop Judith, who was sitting on her lap, from trying to eat the letters. Sacha just watched, occasionally poking fun at Rick’s spelling while cleaning her rifle.

Daryl had taken his crossbow apart and was carefully waxing the cables. I leaned very lightly against his side, wanting to touch him but being reasonably sure he wouldn’t be happy with something too obvious. He didn’t say anything, although I fancied I caught a hint of a faint smile for a moment, finishing up the main string and beginning to slot everything back together again.

'No way is  _chutzpah_  a legal word,’ Rick protested laughingly as Michonne claimed another high score, after which of course nothing would do but for her to find a dictionary from the upstairs bookshelf and prove him wrong, to everyone’s lasting amusement.

When Daryl hefted his reassembled crossbow up onto a shelf and settled back against the end of the couch I decided it would be best to vacate before I fell asleep on him, and got to my feet.

'Not that watching Rick’s continued vocabulary growth isn’t fun guys, but I’m going to bed – thanks for feeding me again, Carol. I’ll keep an eye out for some mushrooms tomorrow.’

'You’re welcome, and thank you,’ she said, but I felt her watching as I left the room. I also hadn’t expected Daryl to follow me into the hallway but as I reached for the door I felt his hand catch my arm.

'You don’t have to go. If you want.’

'I really need to get to bed-’

'We got space.’

'I know, but-’ I checked quickly down the hall and then turned to face him, lifting my hands to trace idle patterns on his chest ’-if I try to bed down in the same room as you right now I can pretty much guarantee there won’t be much sleeping going on.’

'That so?’

'Uh-huh.’ I flashed a grin. 'Of course, there’s also plenty of room across the way if you wanted to come pick up where we left off…’

He snorted, but to my gratification also took hold of my hips to pull me a little closer.

'That’s a big appetite you got there, woman.’

’ _Woman_?’ I mimicked playfully, a poor imitation of his gravelly tone. 'Not a princess any more, then?’

'Nah.’ The shadowed half-smile was back. 'I ain’t no prince, neither.’

'Well I do happen to think royalty is  _very_  overrated…’

'Hey, none of that in the hallway!’ Maggie’s call made us snap apart like guilty teenagers, but she and Michonne were both laughing from the lounge door. Carol stuck her head around with a faux-scandalised gasp.

'Imagine if Judith had seen that!’

'Oh, I know I can’t compete with the little asskicker,’ I said, grinning, and gave Daryl a last kiss on one scruffy cheek as I turned to go. 'I’ll see you tomorrow.’

'Yeah.’

As the door closed I heard more laughter followed by a loud, indignant  _shut up_  from the butt of the joke, and chortled to myself all the way over to the garage, where I spent far longer than I would have cared to admit lying on my back and thinking over the evening before falling into the best sleep I’d had in quite some time.


	17. Chapter 17

In the morning I roasted up some mushrooms and wandered to the gate still nibbling at them as breakfast, trying not to break into a goofy expression as I saw Daryl waiting. He glanced up, hearing my approach, and nodded a greeting in his usual neutral manner. I pointedly ignored the broad grin from Tara, who was on watch, and lifted the latch to let us out.

We had to clear a couple of walkers on the road who’d decided to get ambitious overnight, but that didn’t take long and after retrieving arrows and bolts we headed into the woods, continuing the wider perimeter patrol outside the new boundary where the palisade was being built up. After an hour or so we reached the stream that fed the little river running through the town, and I spotted a clump of puffball mushrooms clinging to the underside of a fallen tree so went to collect them.

I was just putting the last few into my satchel when I realised Daryl had been staring at me for a while.

‘Something wrong?’

'Naw.’ He looked away again, quickly scanning the area for threats with the easy wariness of much habit. I closed the distance with a few quick steps, waited until he glanced at me again and then caught his chin in my hand, tilting my head up to give him a kiss. He gave me a funny little sideways squint, seeming halfway between surprised and pleased by the action.

'Bashful?’ I teased. 'How hard  _did_  the others rib you last night?’

'The others ain’t here,’ he pointed out, hefting his crossbow up in his other hand and pulling me into a kiss that was considerably more thorough, although it ended up not being much longer as a walker blundered into the clearing and made a lurching beeline for us. Daryl made a disgusted noise, sighted and shot it before I could react.

'Cockblocked by a fucking dead guy,’ he said, striding over to the corpse to give it a kick and retrieve the bolt. I had to laugh at that.

'How about we focus on the patrol for now, huh?’

'Yeah.’ He shot me a small smirk. 'For now.’

Something in his tone sent tingles down my spine, and although rest of the day went by without particular incident I was ready to jump his bones right at the gate by the time we got back inside the walls. So I could have slapped Rick when he intercepted us halfway down the main street.

'Need to talk to you.’

'I’ll catch you later,’ I said to Daryl, and passed him my satchel. 'Can you get this stuff to Carol?’

'Sure.’ He loped off as I turned back to Rick, who had a small, oddly pleased smile on his face.

'Something funny?’ I asked.

'Nothing at all.’ He gestured for me to accompany him and started in the direction of Deanna’s house when I fell into step alongside. 'How’ve you been? Settled back in?’

'Mostly.’ I wasn’t particularly surprised when we peeled off to Deanna’s house, where she was waiting at the door for us both and the kettle had just boiled. After the immediate niceties – I have to admit I brushed off her enquiry after my wellbeing in a far more brusque sort of manner than I entirely intended, but the woman rubbed me up the wrong way for some reason – she sat back in her chair and took a long drink from her cup.

'I don’t know if you realised since you broke his nose at the gate, but Nick is still under house arrest. We-’ indicating Rick ’-have been trying to work out exactly what to do with him.’

'I’m not going to apologise for breaking his nose,’ I informed her calmly.

'Nobody would expect you to,’ Rick said. 'The problem isn’t that. The problem is he as good as killed you out on that run, and we need to do something about it.’

'I suppose the fact I’m  _not_  actually dead is a minor inconvenience, then?’

'Hmm.  _Habeas corpus_  doesn’t really cover it in this instance, does it?’ Deanna agreed. 'And while I’m not condoning what amounts to attempted murder, he claims that he didn’t think that far. That he just got scared. I think I believe him. Do you?’

I thought for a moment.

'Yes, actually. Nick hasn’t got the stones to actively try to get someone killed. He just got stupid, I guess.’

'Doesn’t excuse what he did,’ Rick pointed out.

'I’m not saying it does.’ I sighed. 'We can’t lock him up. He’s an able body – if  _only_  in body – and we need those. So what are the alternatives, under whatever is passing for the law here?’

'I suppose…exile,’ Deanna said carefully.

'Can’t do that,’ Rick said. 'Too risky. He’s just stupid enough to fall in with a bad crowd and lead them back here.’

'What, then?’ she asked pointedly. 'Shoot him? Capital as the only punishment?’

'He  _is_  dangerous. Can’t deny that. Whether it’s through malice or fear or just plain idiocy-’

'You can’t shoot people just for being idiots, or for being afraid,’ I interjected. 'Everyone has bouts of stupidity and anyone who  _isn’t_  afraid is going to get killed just fine on their own.’

'Then what would you suggest?’ Deanna prompted.

'I don’t know. I’m a history PhD, not a lawyer or a cop.’

'Well then, what about historically? In the time periods you’ve studied, what sort of punishments – non-lethal punishments – did people use? Should we build a stocks and throw things at him?’

'Actually most medieval stockades were instruments for a public beating, contrary to popular belief,’ I said. 'It was generally beating, torture, some form of slow and-or unpleasant death. Some parts of world used indentured servitude, the nicer parts would just exercise public shunning…’

'We have to do  _something_ ,’ she insisted. 'This town – this  _community_  – needs to know that what he did, whatever the reason, isn’t something that will be tolerated.’

'Then someone needs to decide  _what_  is going to demonstrate that,’ Rick said to her with measured weariness.

'You can tie him to the church bell as a muffler for all I care,’ I said, tiring of going in circles and not particularly wanting to continue the discussion. 'I broke his nose, and I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire, and we’re done as far as I’m concerned. You want to make something out of it for the town at large, go ahead. But that’s on the two of you and nothing to do with me.’

I left them sitting there, noticing with interest the pointed look that Rick shot Deanna as I did – clearly this was not the first debate they’d had on the subject – and headed out back to the houses, passing Maggie on the way.

'They still trying to figure a punishment for Nicholas?’ she asked.

'Trying,’ I said. 'Although there seems to be some disagreement on any point other than the fact it isn’t practical to just keep him under house arrest forever. Short of just letting everyone he’s pissed off queue up to break parts of his anatomy in turn…’

'I know.’ She shook her head. 'I had to talk Glenn out of going over to his house to take it up. He was  _so_  mad. Tara too, although I think she was more for stringing him up than laying him out.’

'At least we’ve got different viewpoints in play, I guess.’

'I guess.’ Her expression lightened slightly as she cocked her head. 'It's…good to see you and Daryl together.’

'It’s a pretty recent development,’ I felt obliged to point out. 'Silver lining, and all that.’

'I figured. But you know, that’s how it was with Glenn and me. When there’s no time to play around…you just find something you want, or someone, and that’s it.’

'Sure.’ I had to smile slightly at that. 'Post-collapse romance, huh?’ Then I indicated the Monroe house. 'Those two could probably use your moderating influence.’

'Yeah, I’d best get in there. I’ll see you later.’

'See you later, Maggie.’

For some reason the casually friendly exchange put me in a much better mood as I got back to the house, and seeing Daryl sitting on the porch steps skinning the day’s catch didn’t do any harm either. I opened up the garage to stow my gear and then crossed to sit down beside him.

'Rick and Deanna are trying to work out what to do with Nicholas,’ I said by way of greeting and explanation.

He grunted.

'Put me in a room with the sonofabitch for ten minutes, I’ll save them the damned trouble.’ He yanked the hindquarters out of the rabbit he was stripping down with unnecessary force, as if for emphasis.

'I think the idea was for Nick to still be alive at the end of it.’

'Oh, he’d still be alive.’ He snorted. 'He’d just wish he weren’t.’ Then, at my mildly sceptical look, 'What? You ain’t never seen a man beaten into the ground before?’

'Barbarian,’ I said affectionately, which got a small smirk. I licked my thumb and used it to clean a small spot on his cheek so I could put a peck on it, although I hadn’t expected him to turn his head and catch my lips as I drew back. That brief contact turned into two, then three, and then I snaked an arm around his waist to lean in and kiss him properly.

'Ugh. It’s like some really gory and disgusting rom-com.’

Daryl broke off and squinted up at where Enid was making a face at us from the bottom of the steps, Carl just a few paces behind.

'Screw off.’

Carl started laughing unashamedly but Enid just rolled her eyes. I grinned at the pair of them.

'Are you two after something or just lurking generally?’

'Nothing-’ Carl actually grabbed Enid’s sleeve and hurried her past us into the house ’-we’re good.’

There was some more laughter from inside and then feet on the stairs. Daryl huffed a little and then slicked his knife clean on his trousers.

'This is why I ain’t a fan of smooching in public.’

I nearly dissolved into chuckles at that solemn pronouncement, but stood and dusted my hands off.

'Well, I’m going for a shower-’ tilting my hips pointedly ’-if you’d like to join me?’

'Stop trying to wash me, woman.’

Laughing, I left him to it for the time being, but I definitely didn’t expect to find him leaning against the wall just outside when I later emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around myself.

'You could have knocked,’ I said to him playfully.

'Didn’t want to disturb you.’ He folded his arms and gave me one of those long, penetrating stares.

'So you what, just stood there and watched me shower?’

'That a problem?’ He rounded on me and I felt his hands go walkabout under the towel. At least he’d washed them.

'Seems like the polite thing to do would have been to join in-’ when he kissed me I tugged at his arms to pull him down the short hall into the bedroom, turning to push him down so he was sitting on the bed and then climbing onto his lap. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of my neck to suck on the pulse point before drawing in a long, shuddering breath. One of his hands crept up to my left breast, groping through the towel, and I squirmed because it felt  _good_  and he was already hard as a rock…

When I reached down to unbuckle his belt he pushed up into my grip and pulled me into another, more frantic kiss. I got his trousers out of the way and sank down onto him, prompting another groan as he half-leaned, half-fell onto the mattress. That left him on his back while I was straddling his waist, towel still tucked around me. Grinning broadly at the power shift, I popped the buttons on his shirt and stripped it off him one arm at a time, then caught his wrists above his head with one hand.

He grunted and pitched up, sending a spasm of delicious friction shooting through my belly. His arms were tensed, beautifully highlighting the line of the muscles, although I knew he could easily break out of my grip if he really wanted to. Then he caught my gaze with an undeniably playful air and I broke into a grin, starting to rock my hips back and forth while letting my other hand trail across his chest.

'Shit, woman,’ he breathed, straining up when I leaned down. Our mouths met in a sloppy, messy kiss and I stepped up the rhythm, remembering the look he’d given me outside by the river. God, the man had no right to have this sort of effect on me. I hadn’t ridden a guy this hard since Matt Porter back in university, and I’d lusted after him for the better part of two years before getting anywhere.

Daryl shifted underneath me and suddenly wrenched his arms free, tearing the towel off my body to hurl it behind me and settling his hands on my waist as his eyes darkened hungrily. I straightened, fully aware that the position and movement were making my breasts bounce wildly now, and just as aware that was clearly what he’d been looking for with the towel gone.

He sat up suddenly, arching up into me in time with my movements and sending bolts of lightning shooting down my spine. I tangled my fingers through his hair, nuzzling the side of his forehead as we both quickened the pace; I was right on the brink but it felt so good to ride him like this that I wanted to prolong it. He was panting now, straining up against me with increasing urgency, his brows creased in what looked like near-painful concentration.

'Woman, you got to – got to come for me-’ he gasped, almost pleadingly, and I realised he was right there too but holding back. The mere realisation was  _insanely_  hot and I cupped his face in my hands, kissing him deeply as fireworks exploded through my body. He gripped my thighs hard enough to leave bruises as I swallowed his cry up into the kiss, not stilling the rocking of my hips until the waves of pleasure ebbed to shivery echoes.

Daryl was resting his head against my chest, still breathing heavily. I stroked some sweat-slicked hair out of his eyes and laid my cheek on top of his head until both our heart rates slowed. After a long few moments he looked up at me with an expression I couldn’t quite fathom, and then suddenly had his arms around my back and was hugging me so fiercely that I got worried and pulled back so I could see his face again.

'You all right?’

'Yeah.’ But he dropped his eyes.

Now genuinely concerned, I slid off the bed to kneel in front of him, hurriedly retrieving the towel to wrap back around myself as he somewhat awkwardly refastened his trousers and reached for the rest of his clothes.

'Daryl, what is it?’

'Nothing. I’m fine.’ He tugged his shirt back on, still avoiding my gaze. Torn now between worry and annoyance, I grabbed his chin and made him look at me.

’ _Daryl_.’

'I ain’t used to this!’ he exploded, shoving my hand away. 'Caring. Worrying 'bout someone else this much-’

'I don’t think that’s true,’ I said. 'What about Rick and the others? What about Judith? Or Carol?’

'It ain’t the same,’ he said bitterly. 'When I thought you were dead, was like…was like I lost myself. Didn’t care about nothing no more…’ he sniffed, hanging his head, and I realised he was crying.

 _Just fucking around_ , I thought.  _Until something better comes up_.

_Oh, Daryl._

I got back onto the bed and pulled him against me, hugging him tightly and stroking my fingers through his hair when he didn’t resist. Despite what Carol had said, despite the scars on his back and knowing where they came from, it never really occurred to me before that gruff, cynical Daryl Dixon the crossbow wielding hunter and all-around badass probably carried around more emotional baggage and self-esteem issues than the rest of Alexandria put together.

Thinking back on my initial snap judgement of him made me feel like the world’s biggest bitch, too, especially when he put his arms around my waist and dropped his brow onto my bare shoulder with a long, shuddering breath. I kissed the side of his head but a moment later he sat back up, not looking at me, like he was expecting – waiting – for me to get up and leave. I reached out and idly fiddled with one of the buttons on his shirt.

'I doubt my culinary skills are a patch on Carol’s but…I’d really like to make you dinner.’

His eyes flicked back to mine with a hint of confusion. I risked a grin.

'That, by the way, is the weird and uptight English way of asking you to stay.’

To my relief that got a small shadow of a smile. I gave him a quick peck on the forehead and then got up to get dressed; if nothing else I was starting to get cold. Daryl watched me from the corner of his eye but followed me downstairs and lurked in the inner doorway as I cracked the garage for ventilation and stoked the fire back up.

'Be right back,’ he said suddenly, and was gone. I knelt down with my impromptu larder box, wishing I had something a tad more appetising than ramps and dandelion roots to go with the chicken mushrooms. I’d given the last of my berries to Carol.

When Daryl came back in with the groundhog he’d caught that morning, skinned and ready for cooking, I was more than a bit surprised, but hurriedly nudged the mushrooms aside to make room for it on the improvised grill.

'Thank you,’ I added. He constructed a one-shouldered shrug and glanced sideways at me.

'My woman ain’t eating nothing but no damned rabbit food for dinner.’

I felt a smile spread and bit my lower lip to censor it, blushing like a schoolgirl. I’d never been one for overly flowery crap but that casual assertion was Daryl’s equivalent of poetry, and it would be lying to claim I wasn’t a teensy bit turned on by the possessive intimation either.

'Well-’ I shifted so I was sitting cross-legged, pleased when he sat down properly next to me ’-I know my man would never let me go hungry.’

He smiled properly at that, and as I melted into puddles he also looped one long arm up around my shoulders and pulled me against his side. We sat like that for a little bit while everything finished cooking, then I reluctantly detached myself for a moment to get everything onto the flat wooden chopping board I’d repurposed as a serving plate.

'Sorry I haven’t got any nice cutlery,’ I said dryly; Daryl ate the same way I did these days, cutting with a smaller reserve knife (“reserve” in this case generally meaning “one not used to stab walkers in the head”) and then eating whatever it was straight off the back of the blade.

He snorted and speared a bit of mushroom, chewing almost speculatively for a moment before swallowing.

'When we first got here, Aaron and Eric made me dinner. Damned weird. Napkins and candles and shit.’

'You had a candlelit dinner with Aaron and Eric?’ I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, but he seemed to find it funny too and chuckled with me.

'Yup. Spaghetti. And red wine. Can you imagine?’

That made me laugh again.

'Well in fairness  _nobody_  can eat spaghetti neatly…although…’ for some reason that made me wistful '…god, I used to  _love_  a glass of wine.’

'Shame they wasted it on me, then,’ he said. 'Thought it tasted like shit.’

'Hmm…a nice glass of red wine and a slice of good cheese…’ I sighed. 'Not that grilled ramps aren’t their own kind of charming, mind you…’

He wiped his knife clean and stowed it, looking away from me. I leaned up and kissed his cheek, stroking one hand up and down his back.

'Something wrong?’

'This. It ain’t-’ he shifted and shook his head, almost to himself ’-I ain’t right for you.’

'What?’ I exclaimed. 'What the hell do you mean by that?’

'Drinking wine and…and going to college, all that book learning you got, letters after your name, and I’m just-’ a short shrug ’-I ain’t nothing. Ain’t nobody.’

'Don’t say that.’ I hugged him from behind, resting my cheek between his shoulderblades. 'You’re not nothing, and you’re not nobody. Not to me. Not to a  _lot_  of people.’

I felt rather than heard him huff.

'Like you’d have looked twice at me before.’

'Oh, I’d have looked twice. I’d have kept my eye on you.’ I grimaced slightly. 'Probably with my hand on some pepper spray, admittedly, but-’

'See?’ He twisted around and pushed me off him. 'You’d have thought I was trash.’ Another snort. 'You’d have been right, too.’

'Well I-’ I hesitated, wanting to comfort him but knowing he’d see right through any stupid platitudes ’-you’re right, before the collapse I’d have crossed the street to avoid you. But you know what? It would have been  _my loss._  You’re worth knowing. Hell, you’re more than just worth knowing. God help me, you’re just about my favourite person in this crapass excuse for a world.’

He gave me an openly sceptical look at that and I had to laugh, giving him a light thump on the arm.

'Yeah, you heard me, Dixon.’

'You’re a damned weirdo,’ he said, trying to sound grumpy but rather failing thanks to the blush rising rather obviously on his cheeks.

'We’re all weirdoes. ’S why we should stick together, right?’

To my lasting delight he answered me with a kiss, sweet and deep, then leaned his forehead against mine for a long moment before drawing back with obvious reluctance. I caught his hand as he stood up, kissing his palm.

'Ought to sleep,’ he said. 'We still got patrol tomorrow.’

'You can sleep here.’ I indicated my bed – although it was more of a nest with blankets, unfolded sleeping bag, several pillows and the duvet from upstairs. 'Plenty of room. If you want to, that is.’

'I – uh –’ he got that oddly bashful look again ’-you want me to stay?’

'What, never had a sleepover with a girl before?’ I teased.

'No, just…’ He took a step towards the door, then stopped, stepped back again and rubbed at the back of his neck with an edge of nervousness. 'You serious?’

'I was serious about asking you to stay.’ I banked the fire down to safe levels with the ease of much practice, then shed my shoes to crawl into the bed. 'But only if you want to.’

'Yeah.’ He paced back and forth a couple more times, seeming torn between apprehension and good old indecision, but finally sat down next to me and started to unlace his boots. Grinning at his awkwardness, I decided to just get comfortable and let him sort himself out at his own pace. The hesitance was genuinely amusing though, as he gingerly lay down next to me, flat on his back, like he was expecting me to explode. Then he fidgeted a bit more, turning one way and then the other, finally settling with his back to me. He had his arms folded, which I already knew was how he tended to sleep, but I could also see from the line of his shoulders that he was pretty tense.

I reached out to flip my lantern off so only the glow of the fire’s embers was left in the garage, then pulled the bundle of blankets over us both and shuffled up against his back. For a moment I felt him freeze in alarm, but when I slung an arm around his waist he seemed to force himself to relax, and by the time I’d snuggled up properly against him he had one hand over mine where it rested on his stomach. His breathing slowed gradually but I was pretty sure I fell asleep first. He was one hell of a hot water bottle.


	18. Chapter 18

I woke up alone but the spot next to me was still warm. Rolling over, I stretched and noticed Daryl’s boots still sitting by the banked fire. Since going shoeless wasn’t one of his known eccentricities, I assumed that meant he was still nearby somewhere. Wriggling around in the bed, I slung the grill over and stoked the fire back up, slinging the last of the oyster mushrooms on to cook for breakfast. They were almost done when I heard bare feet padding over concrete and glanced up to see Daryl, damp-haired and just shrugging his leather vest back on over his shirt. A smile crept out before I could censor it.

‘Did you just…shower?’

'Why don’t nobody ever believe me when I say I wash?’

'Probably because nobody’s seen it.’ I winked at him. 'You should have woken me. I could be your witness.’

'You just want to see me all wet, woman,’ he shot back.

'Hmm…I could always just turn the hose on you again,’ I said, making a point of looking him up and down.

'You do and I’ll bray you,’ he said, smirking when I laughed at the empty threat.

I rolled back onto my stomach and propped my chin up in my hands, kicking my legs up at the knee with an exaggerated girly sigh and a poor attempt at a southern drawl.

'Gee golly mister Dixon, you can sure turn a gal’s head.’

That got a small chortle but before he could reply there was a knock on the garage door.

'Cass? You awake?’ It sounded like Tara.

'I am now,’ I called back, rolling my eyes as she peeked through the slit of the open door, which I’d kept cracked for ventilation overnight.

'Have you seen – oh. Hi, Daryl.’ She grinned. 'Glenn wanted to talk to you guys about a run before you went out.’

'We’re just having breakfast,’ I said. 'Be right over.’

'Okay.’

That somewhat put paid to any further fooling around, so we ate quickly and headed over the road where Glenn was sitting on the couch looking over some maps with Maggie, Abraham and Michonne.

'…feed shop down there might have something worth taking…’ Maggie was saying.

'What’re we getting?’ Daryl asked.

'Farming equipment, and seeds,’ Glenn supplied. 'Planting season isn’t far off, and since Tobin managed to get a plow of sorts made-’

'I passed a big farming warehouse on my way back from the truck depot,’ I offered. 'Not on the main road, but it seemed more or less untouched.’

'Around here?’ Maggie asked, indicating on the map. 'There’s a Southern States off the highway.’

'Might have been. Sorry, I wasn’t really paying much attention to the scenery beyond the next walker.’

'Seems like a good place to start,’ Abraham said. 'Anyone looting a place like that probably stuck to small stuff, so should be able to load up plenty of what we need.’

'Sounds promising.’ Glenn looked at me. 'You in?’

'Sure.’

'I’ll bring the bike,’ Daryl put in, stepping up alongside me. 'Better to scout out if the terrain ain’t known.’

'All right.’ Michonne nodded. 'We can head off tomorrow, first light. Provided the roads aren’t too bad it should just be a couple of nights.’

'I’m coming too,’ Maggie added, and shot Glenn a mild glare when he looked about to argue. 'I know what we need, none of you ever did any farming in your life and better to do it once and right than have to make the same run twice.’

There wasn’t much arguing with that logic, although he didn’t seem happy about it. Daryl and I did a single quick patrol sweep outside the wall but were back by midmorning along with a couple of rabbits and a hefty bundle of short sticks we could put to use to make some more ammunition. I ended up sitting on the floor of Aaron and Eric’s garage making arrows while Daryl worked on the bike. It was actually quite a relaxing way to spend an afternoon, and there was still plenty of light left after I’d refilled both quivers so I just sat and watched him.

'Is this what you did, before?’ I asked after a few minutes. 'Worked on bikes? Or cars, or whatever?’

'Sometimes.’

'I meant for a living.’ Hugging my knees up, I grinned at him. 'Been trying to guess. Hard to find a fit but I think mechanic could work…’

He snorted, standing up and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands off.

'Did when I needed to, that’s all. My brother-’ a brief moment of hesitation ’-he had a bike, knew a lot of guys who did, so I picked it up.’

'Your brother was a biker?’ That piqued my curiosity anew – I’d been unable to get anything out of anyone about Daryl’s sibling even after some relatively unsubtle probing. 'Like, a Hell’s Angel or something?’

That got a derisive snort.

'He wishes. He had this gang – bunch of druggie shitheads up in Barksdale. They turned on him and-’ Daryl abruptly stopped and wrung the rag around his hands, looking distinctly self-conscious.

'You don’t have to talk about your brother if you don’t want to,’ I said gently.

'Ain’t that.’ He tossed the rag back into the toolbox. 'I didn’t do nothing. Before. Just…moved around a lot. Followed my brother. Did what he said.’

I got up and crossed the garage to brush some strands of hair out of his eyes, waiting until he looked at me.

'Seems like every time someone mentions life before the collapse you get angry with yourself.’

'You didn’t know me then,’ he said.

'Doesn’t matter.’ I shrugged. 'We all started off someone different. No need to be ashamed of it.’

'Still am.’

'I know.’ I kissed him and smiled when he put his hands on my hips to pull me against him. 'You can be mister tall-dark-and-mysterious if you want. But if you ever do want to talk about it-’

'Hmm. 'Nother time maybe…’ he walked us back until I was flat against the garage wall and then started kissing me more thoroughly until I all but expected him to throw me over the bike again.

'Maybe-’ I managed to break off, laying my finger over his lips and trying to ignore the way my stomach did light somersaults when he sucked the tip into his mouth ’-maybe we ought to take this back to the  _other_  garage, hmm?’

By degrees we did get things closed up and across the road – not without a few false starts – and by the time the door was properly closed I was just about ready to climb him like the proverbial tree. I didn’t expect the outright guffaw I got when I yanked his belt off and all but hurled it across the room, but all amusement faded rapidly when we were both naked and he was fucking me so hard into the ground that I found myself thinking I was glad we weren’t on the mattress upstairs. The damned slats would probably have given way.

Afterward, both breathless and soaked with sweat, we redressed for warmth and practicality before scrambling back into the bedding. Daryl tucked himself against my back and was absently running one hand up and down my side and over my stomach when I felt him freeze.

'You all right?’ I asked drowsily, glancing over my shoulder at him. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Or maybe a herd of walkers. 'Hey – what is it?’

'Didn’t think,’ he muttered, turning away and sitting up, running his hands through his hair. 'Shit.’

'What?’ I sat up beside him.

'We oughta – I mean-’ he shook his head ’-we oughta  _not…_ ’

'Ought to not what?’

'Just-’ he picked at his nails ’-the way we’ve been screwing…never even thought…but…what if you get  _pregnant_?’

In retrospect, collapsing onto my back again and dissolving into howls of laughter was probably not the most tactful response, but his part mortified, part horrified tone coupled with the vaguely guilty expression on his face was pretty comical.

'You think it’s  _funny_?’ he exclaimed heatedly. 'Last woman I saw was pregnant  _died_  from it!’

'I’m sorry, I’m sorry-’ I tried to get a grip, taking deep breaths and finally sitting up again ’-just - it’s kind of funny, from here. In general, I mean. The number of times you’ve shagged me halfway into next week, I’m pretty sure that if that could happen it would have by now.’

'Huh?’ His indignation switched straight to puzzlement. Grinning, I proffered my left shoulder, picking his hand up to put it over the spot.

'Feel that?’

'What is it?’ He frowned, prodding the little lump.

'It’s a contraceptive implant. Pretty common where I’m from. And it’s good to go at least another two years. If we’re still both alive and screwing after that…’

'So you…you can’t?’ He prodded it again, seeming torn between fascination and perplexity. 'That’s pretty damned sci-fi, ain’t it?’

'I hope you’re not disappointed,’ I said dryly. 'I’m not exactly the maternal type.’

'I don’t want no damned rugrats.’ He trailed his hand down my arm to lace our fingers together. 'Just suddenly thought…couldn’t stand losing you that way.  _Any_  way, but…especially that. How Rick lost Lori.’

'There are ways not to,’ I said, my tone unconsciously gentling because he was so clearly upset. 'Why do you think I spend so much time drying all those roots and leaves and bits of grass?’

'Good.’ He pulled me to him and kissed my brow, leaving his chin on the top of my head in a rare show of affection. 'Ain’t got you back from that asshole Nick leaving you to walkers just to see you go that way.’

'Definitely not the plan,’ I assured him, taking the opportunity to snuggle into his chest as he lay back down. 'Now get some rest. Big road trip tomorrow, remember?’

A drowsy grunt was the only response to that, so I just turned my head onto one side and let the sound of his heartbeat under my ear lull me into sleep too.


	19. Chapter 19

It was quite the expedition setting out the following morning; Maggie, Glenn, Abraham, Tara, Michonne, Heath and Spencer as well as Daryl and myself. Three cars plus the truck, trailer and Daryl’s bike wasn’t going to make for much in the way of stealth, but we’d need the space to bring back everything we needed to get the farm going. After a great deal of discussion Glenn and Rick had decided that it was overall safer to do fewer big runs than lots of little ones, especially since just one car or the truck alone would need to make a dozen trips to make anything like a dent in Maggie’s agricultural shopping list.

I opted to ride with Michonne in one car while Abraham and Tara took the truck and the others paired off to take turns driving – apart from Daryl, of course, who wouldn’t let anyone else near his bike – so at least I wouldn’t have to put up with Spencer, although Heath seemed amicable enough to spending the trip with him.

Michonne was in fact just as much fun as Tara and had a sense of humour dry enough to be British. When we passed a couple of walkers chowing down on some unfortunate bird they’d somehow managed to catch, I made some reflexive comment about a dead parrot pushing up the daisies and before I knew it we were trading Python quips like we were in a pub in Surrey. Her Cleese impression was disturbingly accurate, too.

‘I reckon we know enough scripts we could do a little re-enactment, give Carl and the other kids some decent cultural education,’ I said after we’d basically run through the entire cheese shop sketch in the car and been making enough hysterical noise that Glenn checked in on the hand radio to see if everything was okay.

'Oh my god, that’d be great. Most of the best ones only need two people anyway.’

'Well, two people and some really dodgy false moustaches.’

'That’s easy, we just get Rick to grow his beard out again, then put some tape over the top and just  _rip_ -’

We were still giggling like a couple of juvenile delinquents when Glenn called a halt for the evening, but sadly nobody else in the immediate group knew much about Monty Python. Alas.

It took a little rerouting off the highway, and we did have to clear one back road of abandoned cars so we could get everyone through, but all things considered a three day drive was pretty good going to reach what did indeed turn out to be the Southern States warehouse I’d passed on my way back to Alexandria. The lot was very large but suspiciously well fenced-off and clear of walkers inside, although there was quite a build-up at one point on the perimeter that we had to clear out first.

'Seems weird they were all clustered like that,’ Glenn said. 'Let’s check it out before we go inside the fence.’

While salvaging arrows with knife in hand in case any walkers were still animated, I heard what sounded suspiciously like a low-voiced  _bork bork bork_  and glanced up sharply.

'Uh, did anyone else hear that?’

'Yeah.’ Spencer frowned. 'Sounded like a bird.’

'Sounded like a chicken,’ Maggie corrected, peering through the wooden slats on the fence. 'Oh my god. It  _is_  chickens!’

'Plural?’

The sound of our voices – and the cessation of walker groans – seemed to set the birds off, so we more hastily got the gate open and the vehicles inside so we could seal things up against more walkers being drawn in by the noise. One of the out buildings from the main warehouse had a section fully wired off and did indeed contain about two dozen chickens, including a proud cockerel who gave a single loud  _bork_  of offence when Tara tried to touch his feathers through the mesh of the pen.

'No way these things survived on their own,’ Abraham pointed out. 'Think we might have us some more survivors.’

'Then where are they?’ Heath asked. 'We haven’t exactly been discreet coming in here.’

'Maybe they’re on a supply run,’ Tara offered.

'Maybe they’re dead,’ Daryl added darkly, nudging one of the doors into the main building open with his foot. 'Could be walkers in here ain’t shown themselves yet.’

'Let’s check we’re clear inside first,’ Glenn said.

Michonne went in first with her sword while the rest of us stuck close, but the place seemed to be deserted. Given that everyone was so accustomed these days to finding walkers everywhere, finding somewhere so large clear of them was so unusual that it bordered on creepy.

Then Abraham opened the door to what would have been the warehouse offices, and suddenly a dozen corpses lurched out and almost dragged him in with them. Daryl and I shot one each before Michonne and Glenn waded in with sword and machete respectively, and then it was done. The bodies weren’t very decomposed, and a relatively cursory inspection revealed a nasty scratch on one of them which had been bound up in a clear attempt at treatment.

'Probably didn’t know the scratches are as fatal as the bites,’ was Abraham’s verdict. 'Some fella buys it, reanimates in the night and chomps on the rest before they can take him out.’

'Can’t have been more than a few days,’ Maggie said. 'The chickens are out of feed in the pen but there’s still a little water in there and no dead ones.’

'They were probably still here when I came past,’ I said, a little unsettled by the realisation.

'Poor bastards,’ Heath added in a low voice, and we all fell silent for a moment.

'Best we can do is make good use of what they left behind,’ Glenn said finally. 'Let’s see if there’s anything worth salvaging in here first, and then we can seal the room back up. Good a grave for them as any.’

'Shouldn’t we bury them?’ Spencer asked.

'We got better things to do than dig holes for folks we never met,’ Daryl said, and that was that.

'Let’s see what else we can find,’ Tara suggested brightly.

The answer turned out to be surprisingly little in the room itself, so we dragged the corpses in and sealed it back up before continuing the sweep. A slew of hand tools, two full barrels of herbicide and four crates of intact vegetable seeds later, I nearly had a heart attack when Spencer opened a shed door and nearly got run down by a goat. It barrelled past everyone into the middle of the parking lot and then stood there looking confused for a moment before starting to bleat loudly.

'Damned thing’ll draw every walker for miles,’ Glenn muttered, making after it. Tara was quicker and tried a lunge but the damned thing sidestepped her, stopped bleating for a moment as if to consider its position, then  _screamed_  at the top of its lungs instead.

'I didn’t even know goats could _make_  that noise!’ I exclaimed.

'Some are just born loud,’ Maggie said, grimacing. 'My daddy used to put socks over their eyes, the dark helps calm 'em down…probably why she was locked in there.’

'Well do we want to get it  _back_  in-’ Abraham stopped as a single dull  _thunk_  was followed by blessed quiet.

'Dinner?’ Daryl suggested, lowering his crossbow.

By then the sun was starting to skirt the horizon so we did a quick tour of the fences to stab through the dozen or so walkers who’d been drawn to the screaming goat, closed up the chicken coop for the night and then settled into one of the previously unused smaller side offices as a makeshift camp. Maggie and I went to raid one of the greenhouses for some vegetables, and by the time we got back there was a fire going and Daryl had almost completely skinned the goat. I ended up – to everyone’s lasting fascination – using a sort of bastardised version of one of Julie’s old roasting recipes to stuff the meat up with onions, carrots and a bit of dried wild garlic from my satchel.

Tara and Michonne had found strawberries, too, so by the time the firelight was the only light in the building I was feeling as stuffed as I could remember since the collapse. It was almost a struggle to keep my eyes open. Abraham, after a belch that made the roof rattle, announced that he would take first watch, so at least I got to use Daryl as a heater for the first few hours.

I woke up as the first grey light of dawn was starting to creep in through the high warehouse windows. Daryl was awake, sitting up beside me and idly fiddling with the stirrup on his crossbow. A quick glance about revealed everyone else to be sound asleep, so I sat up and looked at him.

'You been awake since you relieved Abraham?’

'Yeah. Ain’t too long.’

'You should have woken me.’

'Nah. Don’t need much sleep anyways.’

'Hmm.’ I leaned my cheek against his shoulder, smiling when he looped one arm around my waist. Nestled there against his side I started to doze again, and it seemed like mere moments later when he nudged me back awake.

*

After a quick breakfast of pilfered crackers it was back to the grindstone, but the explorations of the previous day had covered the fun part so all that was left was to pick out as much as possible from Maggie’s list and load it up. Heath and Tara had the thankless task of trying to corral the chickens into boxes so they could go into the truck, which at least provided some incidental hilarity, but I opted to go help Spencer dig out some feed for them before some wiseass roped me into helping catch the birds.

'I got to ask, Cass,’ he said, in the manner of someone who’s held in a bursting question beyond tolerance, 'But this thing with you and Daryl…’

'This  _thing_?’ I quipped, hefting the largest tub of grit I could find onto the trolley we’d appropriated.

'You know what I mean.’ He did have the good grace to offer an apologetic grin, but apparently wasn’t going to let it rest either. 'I mean, you’re an educated woman – not denying you can kick ass but you’ve got a PhD, for god’s sake, and he’s a…’

'…dirty redneck?’ I finished with a grin, which got a nervous sort of chuckle. 'What? He wouldn’t deny it either. He  _is_  a redneck, and he’s generally pretty sorely in need of a bath.’

'Fair.’ Spencer gave a half-hearted grin. 'So, not to sound clichéd, but what do you  _see_  in him?’

'He writes the most beautiful poetry,’ I said, deadpan. 'But he’ll deny it and probably beat you to a bloody pulp if you mention it.’

'Ha ha. Really.’

'Really?’ I paused to peer at the ingredients on a bag of pellets and compare it to the list Maggie had scribbled onto my forearm. 'I don’t know. What does anyone see in anyone, when it comes to this stuff? He’s just… _Daryl_.’

Fortunately any further discussion was cut off when Tara poked his head around the end of the aisle.

'Guys, we got to get loaded up and out of here. There’s a herd coming.’

That set us at a run to the truck outside. Spencer and Heath helped Abraham pack the feed into the little remaining space in the back while I strung my bow and went to join Michonne at the gate.

'Where’s Daryl?’

'He’s taken the bike out to try and draw them off,’ she said. 'Maggie saw them when she was checking the roof store for anything useful – big group coming down the road. Could have hemmed us in for days. Longer, even.’

'Shit.’ I shielded my eyes against the late afternoon sun and peered both ways up the track. The herd wasn’t hard to spot, lurching its way down the main road just beyond the trees surrounding the lot, but there was no telling where Daryl was. 'Who went with him?’

'He went by himself,’ Glenn called from behind.

’ _What_?’

'We need to get going,’ Michonne said, laying a hand on my arm. 'Come on.’

Fuming, it was all I could do not to kick the car door in after I got in beside her. The last time he’d got on the bike to divert a herd he’d nearly got eaten on the way back, and that was with me as backup. Would the thirty seconds it would have taken him to call someone to ride along  _really_  have made any difference?

It only took us half an hour, even with the vehicles all heavily loaded, to get to the third junction before the turnoff to the interstate that would get us home. Then it was a nail biting two hours of just sitting and, in my case at least, fidgeting and trying not to punch the dashboard in frustration.

'He ought to be back by now. Be getting dark soon.’

'Depends how far he led them before he found a turnoff,’ Michonne said quietly.

'The bloody bike’s built to go offroad, he doesn’t  _need_  a turnoff.’

After another twenty minutes I’d had it and jumped out to cross to the truck.

'Glenn, get home. I’ll wait for Daryl.’

'What?’ He gave me a look like I’d grown a second head. 'No way.’

'This isn’t a case of just  _sitting_ , Glenn, this stuff needs to get home.’ I looked at Maggie pointedly. 'Every day gone is another day we can’t plant. It isn’t doing any good to anyone in the back of the truck or the cars.’

She chewed her bottom lip but then nodded.

'She’s right. We need to get this stuff back. All it would take parked like this is for the chickens to kick off…’

'We’re not leaving anyone behind,’ Glenn insisted.

'I’ll just sit up a tree and wait for Daryl,’ I said. 'We’ll see you back at home.’

'What if he doesn’t show?’ Tara asked in a very small voice.

'He’ll show.’ I tried to sound confident enough that my worry wasn’t obvious, but it didn’t really work. 'Get going.’

Glenn started to protest again but Maggie’s voice cut across him, low and firm. The truck started up.

'Just make sure he doesn’t drive right past you on his way back,’ Michonne said, handing my quiver and a spare rifle scope through the open window of the car. 'That’d just be awkward.’

'Yeah.’ I looped the strap over my shoulders. 'See you back home.’

'Good luck.’

Another night in a bloody tree, I couldn’t help thinking as the convoy drove off, then got my chalk out and wrote  _DIXON_  in foot-high letters across the road. That done I stabbed a passing walker that got curious and then clambered my way up a solid-looking tree, which turned out to have a nice broad branch partially overhanging one side of the road. With any luck I’d hear the bike long before it got into view.

It was a long night, alone in the dark. A gaggle of smaller groups of walkers dragged themselves past in varying directions, shattering the quiet with their groans, but still no sign of the bike. By the time it was fully light again the gnawing anxiety had formed a distinctly unpleasant hole in my gut. I tried to think of non-lethal possibilities. Perhaps he’d had to lead the herd further than he’d thought, or decided to hole up somewhere for the night rather than risk it in the dark. But every idea brought my mind’s eye back to the sickening vision of Daryl glassy-eyed and still on the side of the road, or – worse – now part of the group he’d been trying to bait away, shuffling slowly as one of them.

The sun was fully up by the time I gave up and climbed down the tree, scuffing the chalk out before nocking an arrow and slipping into the woods at the side of the road for more discreet passage. Only this time I was heading away from Alexandria, not back towards it.

I tried to situate myself by traffic signs and my map but when I came to an obvious branch in the road – the most logical place to pull off and let the herd shuffle on its way while easily doubling back – my pulse spiked sharply. Using the rifle scope I peered down the main route. The range was extreme but I could see the tail end of the herd ambling its merry way off to the north. That meant Daryl had gone left.

Assuming he was still alive by this point.

Quashing that thought with difficulty, I took the left turn and kept my eyes peeled not only for walkers but for any signs on the verge where a bike might have swerved off into the woods.

When I found the skid marks my heart leapt into my throat, because it wasn’t just the single track of the bike that had left an imprint on the asphalt. There had been a car – maybe something bigger – following him. No sign of a turn though, just sudden acceleration…I shifted to a jog, mind seething with worry, but it was a good half-hour of loping along the road before I heard a noise and dove on reflex into the woods. Hunkered down in the bushes, I pulled the scope again to see a chunky sedan car, turned on its side and smoking heavily from the hood. One corpse was still strapped into the passenger seat, clawing pointlessly at the window, but both doors on the driver’s side were open which suggested survivors somewhere.

Casting a little way further along with the scope, I could see some kicked up grass and dirt about five hundred feet further along. There was no sign of life nearby so I took the opportunity to chuck out some more soil, smooth the earth down and clear most of the displaced grass so the start of the trail was a bit less obvious.

Away from the road, however, Judith could have probably followed the bike without difficulty. I found a suitable branch to act as a broom and brushed away the tracks as I went to hopefully put off any more enterprising pursuit, but lost it for a moment near a small clearing where a buildup of soil and leaves suggested Daryl had dropped the bike and had to haul it upright again. He’d been walking it now – I could see the drag of his boots. That wasn’t good.

I nocked an arrow back on my bow on reflex when the groan of a walker reached my ears.  _Please, no…_

Thank god. The rather chunky man in blue jeans had presumably been driving that sedan, and the crossbow bolt sticking out of his heart was familiar even if his undead face wasn’t. I put him down and then followed his footsteps back. It wasn’t hard to find where he’d fallen, and then I managed to pick up the rest of the bike tracks.

I spotted his boot first, sticking out of a patch of undergrowth near where the bike was dropped on the ground, and launched myself into a sprint, skidding down beside him and feeling frantically for a pulse. I actually started to cry in relief when I felt the heartbeat against my fingers. The tears dripping down my nose onto his face seemed to stir him, and his eyes opened to a grudging squint.

'Cass?’ That came out on a low, harsh rasp. Wiping impatiently at my eyes, I dug out my canteen and held it to his lips, putting my other hand to the back of his neck to help him drink it.

'God, how long have you been laying here?’

'Dunno.’ He took a couple of swallows then slowly sat up, not without difficulty. I flitted around him like an anxious hummingbird, checking for scratches and injuries. His leathers seemed to have taken the worst of it when he’d first come off the bike, and other than some bumps and grazes on occasional bits of exposed skin where cloth had ripped he seemed mercifully in one piece. Certainly no walkers had touched him.

'What’re you doing here?’ he asked, catching my wrist probably as much to stop me darting around him as to get my attention. 'Where’re the others?’

'Hopefully home by now. It’s been most of a day and a half…what happened?’

'Shit.’ He scrubbed a hand through his hair. 'Some assholes in a car showed up not long after I left the herd. I doubled round to lose 'em but the fuckers were shooting at me and I came off. Got off the road…guess I ended up here.’

'Blue sedan?’

'Yeah.’

'How the hell did you get them to turn it over?’

'Shot through the front windscreen,’ he said calmly, accepting my canteen for a deeper swig. I shook my head with a sigh. Not many people getting shot at on a bike could land an arrow behind them with that sort of accuracy, but it was typical Daryl to just write it off as ordinary happenstance.

I found his crossbow, which was lying a little way off where it had fallen, and checked the cables over as he levered himself upright. Then he grimaced at the long scrape down his right leg where some gravel had ripped down the length of his khakis and taken plenty of skin with it.

'That’s going to need one heck of a clean,’ I said, handing the crossbow back and crouching to inspect the mess. 'I know full leathers aren’t practical but you should at least wear jeans on the bike…’

He grunted.

'Pants’re easier to patch.’

'I’d rather patch jeans than your hide,’ I said, and poured what little was left in the canteen down his shin to rinse the worst of the dirt out. 'How’s the bike?’

'Should be okay. I slid further than it did.’ He limped over to haul it upright and then hunkered down to give the workings a cursory inspection. 'Yeah, looks fine. Need some work when we get back but nothing major.’

'That’s a mercy at least.’ I shoved the canteen into my satchel and slung it properly over myself. 'I spotted a creek a little way back, so we should probably try and get some water before we head off. Thank god Rosita and Sacha brought back those antibiotics in that ambulance they-’

The gunshot seemed abnormally loud even in the quiet of the forest, and I actually started to raise my bow and swing towards it before the sharp, burning pain just underneath the bottom of my left set of ribs properly registered. Then it was like being walloped with a cricket bat and my legs just gave way completely underneath me.

Damp streaked my eyes, sending the sunlight streaming through the trees above into a misty haze of green and white polka dots. I’d always expected to scream if I got shot, but the breath to do anything of the sort was knocked clean out of me. Had the bullet hit my lung? I was probably going to die. Oh, but I hadn’t been hit in the head. That meant Daryl would have to kill me again when I got back up. I didn’t want him to have to do that.

I could dimly hear him yelling, then more gunfire, and then he was grabbing at me and my vision finally blurred completely into blackness.


	20. Chapter 20

‘…think she might be waking up…’

Coming to when your last conscious thought was along the lines of never expecting to open your eyes again is a distinctly unsettling experience. I blinked a few times and got a first class view of the white-slatted ceiling of the infirmary, which was suddenly obscured by Denise’s round, bespectacled face. Her brows were creased in worry but seemed to relax a little when I focused on her.

'Hi there,’ she said. 'How are you feeling?’

'Like-’ I swallowed, and the second attempt came out on less of a croak ’-like I got shot.’

'Well, that figures. You lost a lot of blood but somehow the bullet missed clipping anything critical. You had a bit of an infection…it was touch and go for a while but you seem to be on the mend now.’

'Oh.’ I risked moving my head to inspect the large dressing down on the side of my stomach, and then glanced around in sudden worry. 'Is Daryl okay?’

'He’s fine.’ That was a voice out of my field of vision but Denise put a hand on my shoulder to stop me craning my neck up as Rick came into view. 'You know he’s not much for sitting around but he checks in like clockwork. I was just swinging by to see how you were doing.’

'His leg? And those guys that were shooting-’

'His leg’s fine,’ Denise said, pushing me done again more firmly. 'He didn’t get shot, which is more than can be said for you, and Rick is going to go get him  _right now_ -’ with a meaningful look at him ’-so you can see for yourself, okay?’

I tried to resettle on the pillow as Rick departed with a chuckle, and risked a small grin at Denise’s weary expression.

'I’m sorry. I get the impression I’ve been a less than perfect patient.’

'You had some kind of reaction to the anaesthesia I gave you to get the bullet out,’ she admitted. 'Got  _really_  insistent about seeing Daryl except you were too addled to realise he was in the room trying to stop you getting out of the damned bed…’

'Oh, god.’ I hid my face in my hand. 'I’m really not good with sedatives. I nearly clocked a nurse back home when I had my appendix out.’

'Yeah, you tried to clock me too but your aim’s shit.’

I tried to sit up on reflex at that welcome drawl, earning a less gentle shove back down and an actual clucked tongue from Denise. Then I had to lay back as Enid came out of nowhere to engulf me in a hug that threatened to crack my ribs open.

'Ow…’

'Sorry!’ She snatched her hands back, glanced from Denise to me and back and then seemed to register embarrassment, all but running out of the room.

'Still no idea what the hell is with her,’ Daryl said, putting his crossbow aside on the spare bed. 'How you doing?’

'Better, or so I’m told.’ I waited until he’d dragged a chair over and planted himself next to me. 'What about you?’

'I’m fine.’

'Leg all cleaned up?’

'Yeah.’ He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. 'You shouldn’t have been there.’

'If I hadn’t been then the bastard would have found you napping and I’m willing to bet he wouldn’t have decided to give you a foot massage,’ I pointed out. ’ _You_  shouldn’t have gone haring off by yourself in the first place.’

'Someone needed to draw that herd off.’

'Not and get killed in the process!’ I swallowed and lowered my voice again, aware that Denise had left and was making industrious bustling noises from the next room. 'God, Daryl, the last time you went baiting a herd you nearly got bitten and that was  _with_  backup. I’m not even saying it had to be me – you could have taken Glenn or-’

'Done it alone fine before,’ he said stolidly. 'More'n once. Didn’t need nobody waiting around or coming after me.’

'I know. Bet you had plenty of other close calls you never told anyone about, too.’

'Don’t need you mothering me,’ he said grumpily.

'I’m not  _trying_  to mother you, but I-’ I had to stop and swallow again at the memory ’-I couldn’t shake this image of you lying somewhere. Or, you know,  _not_  lying somewhere, and having to…’ I had to trail off then, turning my head away and trying to gulp back the tears that unexpectedly welled up.

'Hey-’ suddenly he was squeezing my hand in his ’-I get it. Just…just ain’t used to it. Sorry.’ That came out distinctly abashed and he dropped his eyes as if to examine his boots. 'Never had someone worrying, or…or to come back to, you know?’

That made me smile even though my eyes were damp.  _You dumbass, Dixon_.

'I guess Carol’s much better at hiding it than I am, then.’

'That ain’t the same.’ He shook his head and sighed. 'Her and Rick and the others…it ain’t the same.’

I squeezed his hand back and pulled it over so I could kiss his knuckles.

'I know you’re adjusting. Not trying to give you a hard time. But it’s part of the deal. Part of… _this_.’ I motioned with my other hand between us. 'Having each other’s backs. Thinking about what someone  _else_ might lose, because you’re worth more to someone else than you might be to yourself. You get that, right?’

'Yeah,’ he said, bringing his other hand up so both were clasping mine. 'I get it.’

'So no more lone wolf stuff, all right?’

That got only a noncommittal grunt, but then he leaned in to kiss me very gently and I felt myself smile.

'I’m going to take that as an agreement.’

'Yeah.’ I felt rather than saw him smile against my lips before he kissed me again.

'And you’re welcome,’ I added teasingly.

'For what?’

'For tracking you down in time to save your rednecked ass.’

He snorted.

'I’d have heard that asshole before he found me. He ain’t bothering nobody now, anyway.’

'I’m just glad he didn’t shoot you too.’

'Nah.’ Letting go of my hands, Daryl constructed another shrug. 'Second shot went wild – think you being there threw him off. Long enough for me to put a bolt between his eyes.’

'At that range I’d have been shocked if you put it anywhere else,’ I said with a grin, pleased when that got a very small shadow of a smile in response. 'How’d you get me back?’

'That rope in your bag. Tied you to me and the bike and just drove. Blew half the exhaust out but it was worth it.’

'Oh.’ I reached up to run a hand through his hair and stroke down his cheek. 'Think you can fix it?’

'Yeah, it’ll be fine. Aaron’s got so much crap in that garage of his, could probably make a whole other bike.’ He glanced up as Denise came back in; she’d apparently run out of things to bustle with or just decided it was safe. 'How’s she doing? She need anything? Meds?’

'No, no…’ Denise checked my forehead and consulted the monitor attached to me. 'Fever’s fine now, infection all cleared up. Just needs rest. A nice steak wouldn’t be a bad idea, it was a  _lot_  of blood, but unless there’s an Arby’s still in business that-’ she stopped then, because Daryl had stood up and picked up his crossbow with a distinctly purposeful air ’-um,  _seriously_?’

'Red meat, right?’ he said, checking the cords over before slinging the strap over his shoulder. 'Deer, rabbit, duck?’

'Uh, yeah.’ Denise seemed nonplussed by this. 'Anything like that’s good. Just not-’ with a grimace ’-not squirrel.’

I laughed at that, then wished I hadn’t because it pulled at my stitches and hurt.

'I’ll find something.’ Daryl jerked his head at me. 'You stay here.’ Then, when I opened my mouth, 'I’ll take Enid! God, woman!’

He stomped out, leaving me giggling like a schoolgirl. Denise shook her head in amused disbelief.

'He is…something else.’

'He really is.’

I spent the rest of the day wishing we had more of a stock of painkillers – now I was over the worst of it I was already off the good stuff – and receiving visitors to take my mind off the ache in my side. Rick came by again, this time with Judith, and regaled me with the not particularly comforting story of the first time he’d been shot back when he’d been a junior cop back in Georgia. Spencer brought me some pulp mystery novel from Deanna’s bookshelf to keep me occupied, then later Tara came by with a copy of  _The Lord of the Rings_  she’d found somewhere. Carl wandered in not long after Michonne and got subjected to a terrible rendition of the Argument Clinic sketch that left us all laughing so hard that Denise was still scolding me for nearly tearing my stitches when Glenn and Maggie came in.

'I am  _never_  taking you on a run again,’ Glenn said vehemently and, I couldn’t help but feel, not entirely in jest. 'First you get left behind presumed dead, then you stay behind and get  _shot_ …’

'But we got all the stuff we needed, right?’ I prompted, earning a laugh from Maggie.

'We did. Kids are enjoying feeding the chickens and we’ve already got plenty of planting done. Once stuff starts coming up we should be sitting pretty good, and a lot less reliant on salvage too.’

'Well, that’s the main thing then, right?’

'You need some sense of self-preservation, girl!’

Denise shooed them out after a bit so I could rest some more, despite my protestations, but Daryl came back in the evening with a steaming venison steak and insisted on sitting there until I ate all of it. This pattern ended up repeating itself for the next few days until I was permitted out of the infirmary.

'I feel like a bloody newborn foal. Also an idiot,’ I complained when I had to lean on him to support my wobbly legs.

'You nearly  _died_ ,’ he said gruffly. 'Need to take it slow, right?’

'I am  _so_  sick of being injured. No, no, the bed upstairs is  _far_  too bloody soft,’ I added when he started to steer me towards the main door of the house rather than the garage.

'Shut up and get inside, woman.’

'Don’t  _woman_  me, I-’ then I stopped short in favour of gawking at the amended and rearranged room ’-what the hell?’

'Just come  _in_ ,’ Daryl said, nudging me over the threshold properly. I batted him of when he tried to sit me down, turning so I could review all the angles. A block there, a clear route there, the stupid nesting coffee tables gone from where they’d be tripped over…

The room was a lot barer than most of the residents of Alexandria would probably have liked, but the remaining couch was placed with a clear view of the door, all the fiddly little knick-knacks and other distractions were gone, and my practiced eye could see at least half a dozen clear escape and firing routes with next to no intrusions. It was spartan, to say the least, the walls lined with practical, sturdy but mismatched shelves probably lifted from half a dozen places, and there was a properly suspended drying rack over the kitchen island housing my herbs.

Upstairs was much the same – the bed frame was gone, replaced with most of my nest from the garage but with the addition of some decent-looking camping mattresses, again all the superfluous furnishings were gone, and the windows even all had rolled rope ladders tied to the inside sills.

'Didn’t move your stash out of the vent,’ Daryl said, indicating. 'Attic’s all clear. Still had fucking skis and shit up there but it’s gone now. Broke the concrete and dug out a proper fire pit in the garage, too, so there ain’t ash all over the floor after-’

I cut him off with a bear hug, ignoring the pull in my stomach as the stitches protested the stretch, then cupped his face in my hands and kissed him. It took a moment before he returned it, leaning into me and starting to slide a palm up my back before checking himself as I broke off.

'You’re a  _tactical_   _nester_ , Dixon.’ He must have clocked why I continued to sleep in the garage and for some reason take it upon himself to rearrange the house with clearer exit and escape routes than the usual suburban floor plan. 'Why in all the hells did you do this?’

He constructed one of his noncommittal one-shouldered shrugs.

'Everyone else is…settling. Putting down and whatever. But you were still in that damned garage like you were one foot out the gate already and…’ a light blush coloured his cheeks under the usual layer of grubbiness '…I know why, I mean, I just didn’t want you to be like that no more.’

'Daryl-’ to say I  _melted_  would be an understatement ’-my god, that’s just…’

'Rick helped,’ he said quickly, as if that fact somehow absolved him of the result.

'Only because you started it.’ I leaned against him and tucked my head under his chin, smiling when he didn’t resist the motion. 'Thank you. It’s wonderful. And it was a lovely thought to have. Although-’ the smile turning into a grin ’-I have to ask, why no bed?’

He snorted.

'Damned thing was too soft and you know it. Plenty of leftover lumber from all that shit you told Ford to put round the walls. I’ll  _make_  you a god damned bed won’t fall apart in ten minutes, can’t be  _that_  hard…’

'Bikes, arrows, tactical housekeeping and now carpentry?’ I teased, more touched by that casual proclamation than I really cared to admit. 'How  _exactly_  did you stay single this long?’

Daryl looped an arm around me to give my forehead a rough kiss.

'Ain’t nobody ever seen me the way you do.’

'Nobody else better.’ I stepped away to tug him into the bedroom, kneeling down to undo his belt buckle and raising an eyebrow at his dry chuckle, although he didn’t voice any objection. 'Took me long enough so no  _way_  am I giving you up now…’

'Watch it,’ he said, sobering abruptly when I tried to get him to lay down with me. 'You ain’t all healed up yet.’

'So no acrobatics. Check.’ I dragged my shirt off and hurled it away, followed by my bra, then started to ease off my jeans with pointed haste. 'Go gentle as you want, Dixon, but we are _christening_  this bloody bed  _right now_.’

That seemed to do the trick, and he  _did_  go gentle – far gentler than I would have ever expected or given him credit for being – to the point that I had a completely soppy moment and almost started crying like an  _absolute_  wimp when he rolled over alongside me and cradled me close to his chest like I was something immeasurably precious. It would have been touching enough from any bloke, but to get that kind of treatment from  _Daryl…_ well, if he noticed my reaction then thankfully he didn’t say anything, just holding me while his lips brushed my forehead and one of his hands traced idly up and down the small of my back.

After laying there for a bit we cleaned up and, to my lasting amusement, he opened the window in the front upstairs room so we could climb out onto the shingles there. I’d already clambered all over every inch of the house from a structural perspective so I knew the thing could hold, but it was really rather nice to sit on the porch roof and watch the sun go down.

Carl was playing with Judith across the street – she’d started to lever herself upright as well as crawling, and was already able to toddle along if someone held her hands – while Rick sat nearby cleaning his gun and Michonne perched on the steps with a book. Lights in the kitchen highlighted the silhouette of Carol moving about, no doubt conjuring up something delicious from another unlikely set of ingredients. Maggie and Glen were taking a slow walk down the street together, arm in arm, and Abraham and Rosita were sitting together on their own porch.

It could have been any enclosed neighbourhood before the collapse. Quiet, peaceful…safe.  _For now_ , my inner foreboding warned me firmly. I told it to shut up and snuggled against Daryl’s side.

'This place really is something.’ Finding his hand, I laced my fingers through his. 'I really _am_  glad Rick caught me that night in the damned flowerbed.’ A flowerbed, I couldn’t help noticing, that was now growing beets rather than petunias. As was only right and proper, of course.

Daryl grunted assent but gave me a light squeeze.

'Think it’ll last?’ I added, indicating the view at large. 'Alexandria, I mean.’

'Long as it can,’ he replied, squinting at me. 'Long as we let it.’

'Sure.’ I let my head fall against his shoulder with a long exhale. 'That should be just long enough.’

_fin_


End file.
